3   1822  01387  0613 


CAi.Ft. 

SAN  . 


?s 

3? 


THE  POISONED  PEN 


3   1822  01387  0613 


[See  page  18 


It  was  an  anxious  gathering  of  friends  and  foes  of  Dr. 
Dixon  who  sat  waiting  for  Kennedy  to  begin. 


THE  CRAIG  KENNEDY  5ERIE5 


THE 
POISONED  PEN 


6Y 


ARTHUR  B.REEVE 

FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILL  .FOSTER 


HARPER  $  BROTHERS-  PUBLISHERS 

'NEW     YORK     AND    LONDON' 


THB  POISONED  PEN 

Copyright,  1911.  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 

A-T 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  POISONED  PEN i 

II  THE  YEGGMAN      ......  31 

III  THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  61 

IV  THE  FIREBUG 92 

V  THE  CONFIDENCE  KING        ....  123 

VI  THE  SAND-HOG 154 

VII  THE  WHITE  SLAVE       .         .         .         ...  184 

VIII  THE  FORGER 221 

IX  THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  .....  252 

X  THE  SMUGGLER 290 

XI  THE  INVISIBLE  RAY 322 

XII  THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER     ....  360 


THE  POISONED  PEN 


THE  POISONED  PEN 

KENNEDY'S  suit-case  was  lying  open  on  the  bed,  and 
he  was  literally  throwing  things  into  it  from  his 
chiffonier,  as  I  entered  after  a  hurried  trip  up-town 
from  the  Star  office  in  response  to  an  urgent  message 
from  him. 

"  Come,  Walter,"  he  cried,  hastily  stuffing  in  a 
package  of  clean  laundry  without  taking  off  the 
wrapping-paper,  "  I've  got  your  suit-case  out.  Pack 
up  whatever  you  can  in  five  minutes.  We  must 
take  the  six  o'clock  train  for  Danbridge." 

I  did  not  wait  to  hear  any  more.  The  mere 
mention  of  the  name  of  the  quaint  and  quiet  little 
Connecticut  town  was  sufficient.  For  Danbridge 
was  on  everybody's  lips  at  that  time.  It  was  the 
scene  of  the  now  famous  Danbridge  poisoning  case 
— a  brutal  case  in  which  the  pretty  little  actress, 
Vera  Lytton,  had  been  the  victim. 

"  I've  been  retained  by  Senator  Adrian  Willard," 
he  called  from  his  room,  as  I  was  busy  packing  in 
mine.  "  The  Willard  family  believe  that  that  young 
Dr.  Dixon  is  the  victim  of  a  conspiracy — or  at  least 
Alma  Willard  does,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing, 
and — well,  the  senator  called  me  up  on  long-distance 
and  offered  me  anything  I  would  name  in  reason 
to  take  the  case.  Are  you  ready?  Come  on,  then. 
We've  simply  got  to  make  that  train." 


2  THE  POISONED  PEN 

As  we  settled  ourselves  in  the  smoking-compart- 
ment  of  the  Pullman,  which  for  some  reason  or 
other  we  had  to  ourselves,  Kennedy  spoke  again 
for  the  first  time  since  our  frantic  dash  across  the 
city  to  catch  the  train. 

"  Now  let  us  see,  Walter,"  he  began.  "  We've 
both  read  a  good  deal  about  this  case  in  the  papers. 
Let's  try  to  get  our  knowledge  in  an  orderly  shape 
before  we  tackle  the  actual  case  itself." 

"  Ever  been  in  Danbridge?  "  I  asked. 

"  Never,"  he  replied.  "  What  sort  of  place  is 
it?" 

"  Mighty  interesting,"  I  answered;  "  a  combina- 
tion of  old  New  England  and  new,  of  ancestors  and 
factories,  of  wealth  and  poverty,  and  above  all  it 
is  interesting  for  its  colony  of  New-Yorkers — what 
shall  I  call  it? — a  literary-artistic-musical  combina- 
tion, I  guess." 

"  Yes,"  he  resumed,  "  I  thought  as  much.  Vera 
Lytton  belonged  to  the  colony.  A  very  talented 
girl,  too — you  remember  her  in  '  The  Taming  of 
the  New  Woman'  last  season?  Well,  to  get  back 
to  the  facts  as  we  know  them  at  present. 

"  Here  is  a  girl  with  a  brilliant  future  on  the 
stage  discovered  by  her  friend,  Mrs.  Boncour,  in 
convulsions — practically  insensible — with  a  bottle  of 
headache-powder  and  a  jar  of  ammonia  on  her 
dressing-table.  Mrs.  Boncour  sends  the  maid  for 
the  nearest  doctor,  who  happens  to  be  a  Dr.  Water- 
worth.  Meanwhile  she  tries  to  restore  Miss 
Lytton,  but  with  no  result.  She  smells  the  ammonia 
and  then  just  tastes  the  headache-powder,  a  very 


THE  POISONED  PEN  3 

foolish  thing  to  do,  for  by  the  time  Dr.  Waterworth 
arrives  he  has  two  patients." 

"  No,"  I  corrected,  "  only  one,  for  Miss  Lytton 
was  dead  when  he  arrived,  according  to  his  latest 
statement." 

"  Very  well,  then — one.  He  arrives,  Mrs.  Bon- 
cour  is  ill,  the  maid  knows  nothing  at  all  about  it, 
and  Vera  Lytton  is  dead.  He,  too,  smells  the 
ammonia,  tastes  the  headache-powder — just  the 
merest  trace — and  then  he  has  two  patients,  one 
of  them  himself.  We  must  see  him,  for  his  ex- 
perience must  have  been  appalling.  How  he  ever 
did  it  I  can't  imagine,  but  he  saved  both  himself 
and  Mrs.  Boncour  from  poisoning — cyanide,  the 
papers  say,  but  of  course  we  can't  accept  that  until 
we  see.  It  seems  to  me,  Walter,  that  lately  the 
papers  have  made  the  rule  in  murder  cases:  When 
in  doubt,  call  it  cyanide." 

Not  relishing  Kennedy  in  the  humour  of  express- 
ing his  real  opinion  of  the  newspapers,  I  hastily 
turned  the  conversation  back  again  by  asking,  "  How 
about  the  note  from  Dr.  Dixon?  " 

"  Ah,  there  is  the  crux  of  the  whole  case — that 
note  from  Dixon.  Let  us  see.  Dr.  Dixon  is,  if  I 
am  informed  correctly,  of  a  fine  and  aristocratic 
family,  though  not  wealthy.  I  believe  it  has  been 
established  that  while  he  was  an  interne  in  a  city 
hospital  he  became  acquainted  with  Vera  Lytton, 
after  her  divorce  from  that  artist  Thurston.  Then 
comes  his  removal  to  Danbridge  and  his  meeting 
and  later  his  engagement  with  Miss  Willard.  On 
the  whole,  Walter,  judging  from  the  newspaper 


4  THE  POISONED  PEN 

pictures,  Alma  Willard  is  quite  the  equal  of  Vera 
Lytton  for  looks,  only  of  a  different  style  of  beauty. 
Oh,  well,  we  shall  see.  Vera  decided  to  spend  the 
spring  and  summer  at  Danbridge  in  the  bungalow 
of  her  friend,  Mrs.  Boncour,  the  novelist.  That's 
when  things  began  to  happen." 

"  Yes,"  I  put  in,  "  when  you  come  to  know  Dan- 
bridge  as  I  did  after  that  summer  when  you  were 
abroad,  you'll  understand,  too.  Everybody  knows 
everybody  else's  business.  It  is  the  main  occupation 
of  a  certain  set,  and  the  per-capita  output  of  gossip 
is  a  record  that  would  stagger  the  census  bureau. 
Still,  you  can't  get  away  from  the  note,  Craig. 
There  it  is,  in  Dixon's  own  handwriting,  even  if 
he  does  deny  it:  'This  will  cure  your  headache. 
Dr.  Dixon.'  That's  a  damning  piece  of  evidence." 

"  Quite  right,"  he  agreed  hastily;  "  the  note  was 
queer,  though,  wasn't  it?  They  found  it  crumpled 
up  in  the  jar  of  ammonia.  Oh,  there  are  lots  of 
problems  the  newspapers  have  failed  to  see  the 
significance  of,  let  alone  trying  to  follow  up." 

Our  first  visit  in  Danbridge  was  to  the  prosecuting 
attorney,  whose  office  was  not  far  from  the  station 
on  the  main  street.  Craig  had  wired  him,  and  he 
had  kindly  waited  to  see  us,  for  it  was  evident  that 
Danbridge  respected  Senator  Willard  and  every  one 
connected  with  him. 

"  Would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  just  to  see  that 
note  that  was  found  in  the  Boncour  bungalow?  " 
asked  Craig. 

The  prosecutor,  an  energetic  young  man,  pulled 
out  of  a  document-case  a  crumpled  note  which  had 


THE  POISONED  PEN  5 

been  pressed  flat  again.     On  it  in  clear,  deep  black 
letters  were  the  words,  just  as  reported: 

This  will  cure  your  headache. 

DR.  DIXON. 

"  How  about  the  handwriting?  "  asked  Kennedy. 

The  lawyer  pulled  out  a  number  of  letters.  "  I'm 
afraid  they  will  have  to  admit  it,"  he  said  with 
reluctance,  as  if  down  in  his  heart  he  hated  to 
prosecute  Dixon.  "  We  have  lots  of  these,  and 
no  handwriting  expert  could  successfully  deny  the 
identity  of  the  writing." 

He  stowed  away  the  letters  without  letting  Ken- 
nedy get  a  hint  as  to  their  contents.  Kennedy  was 
examining  the  note  carefully. 

"  May  I  count  on  having  this  note  for  further 
examination,  of  course  always  at  such  times  and 
under  such  conditions  as  you  agree  to?" 

The  attorney  nodded.  "  I  am  perfectly  willing 
to  do  anything  not  illegal  to  accommodate  the  sen- 
ator," he  said.  "  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am 
here  to  do  my  duty  for  the  state,  cost  whom  it 
may." 

The  Willard  house  was  in  a  virtual  state  of  siege. 
Newspaper  reporters  from  Boston  and  New  York 
were  actually  encamped  at  every  gate,  terrible  as 
an  army,  with  cameras.  It  was  with  some  difficulty 
that  we  got  in,  even  though  we  were  expected,  for 
some  of  the  more  enterprising  had  already  fooled 
the  family  by  posing  as  officers  of  the  law  and  mes- 
sengers from  Dr.  Dixon. 

The  house  was  a  real,  old  colonial  mansion  with 


6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

tall  white  pillars,  a  door  with  a  glittering  brass 
knocker,  which  gleamed  out  severely  at  you  as  you 
approached  through  a  hedge  of  faultlessly  trimmed 
boxwoods. 

Senator,  or  rather  former  Senator,  Willard  met 
us  in  the  library,  and  a  moment  later  his  daughter 
Alma  joined  him.  She  was  tall,  like  her  father, 
a  girl  of  poise  and  self-control.  Yet  even  the 
schooling  of  twenty-two  years  in  rigorous  New  Eng- 
land self-restraint  could  not  hide  the  very  human 
pallor  of  her  face  after  the  sleepless  nights  and 
nervous  days  since  this  trouble  had  broken  on  her 
placid  existence.  Yet  there  was  a  mark  of  strength 
and  determination  on  her  face  that  was  fascinating. 
The  man  who  would  trifle  with  this  girl,  I  felt,  was 
playing  fast  and  loose  with  her  very  life.  I  thought 
then,  and  I  said  to  Kennedy  afterward:  "If  this 
Dr.  Dixon  is  guilty,  you  have  no  right  to  hide  it 
from  that  girl.  Anything  less  than  the  truth  will 
only  blacken  the  hideousness  of  the  crime  that  has 
already  been  committed." 

The  senator  greeted  us  gravely,  and  I  could  not 
but  take  it  as  a  good  omen  when,  in  his  pride  of 
wealth  and  family  and  tradition,  he  laid  bare  every- 
thing to  us,  for  the  sake  of  Alma  Willard.  It  was 
clear  that  in  this  family  there  was  one  word  that 
stood  above  all  others,  "  Duty." 

As  we  were  about  to  leave  after  an  interview 
barren  of  new  facts,  a  young  man  was  announced, 
Mr.  Halsey  Post.  He  bowed  politely  to  us,  but 
it  was  evident  why  he  had  called,  as  his  eye  followed 
Alma  about  the  room. 


THE  POISONED  PEN  7 

"The  son  of  the  late  Halsey  Post,  of  Post  & 
Vance,  silversmiths,  who  have  the  large  factory  in 
town,  which  you  perhaps  noticed,"  'explained  the 
senator.  "  My  daughter  has  known  him  all  her 
life.  A  very  fine  young  man." 

Later,  we  learned  that  the  senator  had  bent  every 
effort  toward  securing  Halsey  Post  as  a  son-in-law, 
but  his  daughter  had  had  views  of  her  own  on  the 
subject. 

Post  waited  until  Alma  had  withdrawn  before  he 
disclosed  the  real  object  of  his  visit.  In  almost  a 
whisper,  lest  she  should  still  be  listening,  he  said, 
"  There  is  a  story  about  town  that  Vera  Lytton's 
former  husband — an  artist  named  Thurston — was 
here  just  before  her  death." 

Senator  Willard  leaned  forward  as  if  expecting 
to  hear  Dixon  immediately  acquitted.  None  of  us 
was  prepared  for  the  next  remark. 

"  And  the  story  goes  on  to  say  that  he  threatened 
to  make  a  scene  over  a  wrong  he  says  he  has  suffered 
from  Dixon.  I  don't  know  anything  more  about 
it,  and  I  tell  you  only  because  I  think  you  ought 
to  know  what  Danbridge  is  saying  under  its  breath." 

We  shook  off  the  last  of  the  reporters  who  affixed 
themselves  to  us,  and  for  a  moment  Kennedy 
dropped  in  at  the  little  bungalow  to  see  Mrs.  Bon- 
cour.  She  was  much  better,  though  she  had  suffered 
much.  She  had  taken  only  a  pinhead  of  the  poison, 
but  it  had  proved  very  nearly  fatal. 

"  Had  Miss  Lytton  any  enemies  whom  you  think 
of,  people  who  were  jealous  of  her  professionally 
or  personally?  "  asked  Craig. 


8  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  I  should  not  even  have  said  Dr.  Dixon  was  an 
enemy,"  she  replied  evasively. 

"  But  this  Mr.  Thurston,"  put  in  Kennedy  quickly. 
"  One  is  not  usually  visited  in  perfect  friendship  by 
a  husband  who  has  been  divorced." 

She  regarded  him  keenly  for  a  moment.  "  Hal- 
sey  Post  told  you  that,"  she  said.  "  No  one  else 
knew  he  was  here.  But  Halsey  Post  was  an  old 
friend  of  both  Vera  and  Mr.  Thurston  before  they 
separated.  By  chance  he  happened  to  drop  in  the 
day  Mr.  Thurston  was  here,  and  later  in  the  day 
I  gave  him  a  letter  to  forward  to  Mr.  Thurston, 
which  had  come  after  the  artist  left.  I'm  sure 
no  one  else  knew  the  artist.  He  was  here 
the  morning  of  the  day  she  died,  and — and — that's 
every  bit  I'm  going  to  tell  you  about  him,  so  there. 
I  don't  know  why  he  came  or  where  he  went." 

"  That's  a  thing  we  must  follow  up  later,"  re- 
marked Kennedy  as  we  made  our  adieus.  '  Just 
now  I  want  to  get  the  facts  in  hand.  The  next  thing 
on  my  programme  is  to  see  this  Dr.  Waterworth." 

We  found  the  doctor  still  in  bed;  in  fact,  a  wreck 
as  the  result  of  his  adventure.  He  had  little  to 
correct  in  the  facts  of  the  story  which  had  been 
published  so  far.  But  there  were  many  other  de- 
tails of  the  poisoning  he  was  quite  willing  to  discuss 
frankly. 

"  It  was  true  about  the  jar  of  ammonia?  "  asked 
Kennedy. 

'  Yes,"  he  answered.  "  It  was  standing  on  her 
dressing-table  with  the  note  crumpled  up  in  it,  just 
as  the  papers  said." 


THE  POISONED  PEN  9 

"  And  you  have  no  idea  why  it  was  there?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that.  I  can  guess.  Fumes  of  am- 
monia are  one  of  the  antidotes  for  poisoning  of 
this  kind." 

"  But  Vera  Lytton  could  hardly  have  known  that," 
objected  Kennedy. 

"  No,  of  course  not.  But  she  probably  did  know 
that  ammonia  is  good  for  just  that  sort  of  faintness 
which  she  must  have  experienced  after  taking  the 
powder.  Perhaps  she  thought  of  sal  volatile,  I 
don't  know.  But  most  people  know  that  ammonia 
in  some  form  is  good  for  faintness  of  this  sort,  even 
if  they  don't  know  anything  about  cyanides  and " 

"Then  it  was  cyanide?"  interrupted  Craig. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  slowly.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  suffering  great  physical  and  nervous  anguish 
as  the  result  of  his  too  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  poisons  in  question.  "  I  will  tell  you  precisely 
how  it  was,  Professor  Kennedy.  When  I  was  called 
in  to  see  Miss  Lytton  I  found  her  on  the  bed.  I 
pried  open  her  jaws  and  smelled  the  sweetish  odour 
of  the  cyanogen  gas.  I  knew  then  what  she  had 
taken,  and  at  the  moment  she  was  dead.  In  the 
next  room  I  heard  some  one  moaning.  The  maid 
said  that  it  was  Mrs.  Boncour,  and  that  she  was 
deathly  sick.  I  ran  into  her  room,  and  though  she 
was  beside  herself  with  pain  I  managed  to  control 
her,  though  she  struggled  desperately  against  me. 
I  was  rushing  her  to  the  bathroom,  passing  through 
Miss  Lytton's  room.  'What's  wrong?'  I  asked 
as  I  carried  her  along.  '  I  took  some  of  that,'  she 
replied,  pointing  to  the  bottle  on  the  dressing-table. 


io  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  I  put  a  small  quantity  of  its  crystal  contents  on 
my  tongue.  Then  I  realised  the  most  tragic  truth 
of  my  life.  I  had  taken  one  of  the  deadliest  poisons 
in  the  world.  The  odour  of  the  released  gas  of 
cyanogen  was  strong.  But  more  than  that,  the 
metallic  taste  and  the  horrible  burning  sensation  told 
of  the  presence  of  some  form  of  mercury,  too.  In 
that  terrible  moment  my  brain  worked  with  the  in- 
credible swiftness  of  light.  In  a  flash  I  knew  that 
if  I  added  malic  acid  to  the  mercury — perchloride 
of  mercury  or  corrosive  sublimate — I  would  have 
calomel  or  subchloride  of  mercury,  the  only  thing 
that  would  switch  the  poison  out  of  my  system  and 
Mrs.  Boncour's. 

"  Seizing  her  about  the  waist,  I  hurried  into  the 
dining-room.  On  a  sideboard  was  a  dish  of  fruit. 
I  took  two  apples.  I  made  her  eat  one,  core  and 
all.  I  ate  the  other.  The  fruit  contained  the  malic 
acid  I  needed  to  manufacture  the  calomel,  and  I 
made  it  right  there  in  nature's  own  laboratory.  But 
there  was  no  time  to  stop.  I  had  to  act  just  as 
quickly  to  neutralise  that  cyanide,  too.  Remember- 
ing the  ammonia,  I  rushed  back  with  Mrs.  Boncour, 
and  we  inhaled  the  fumes.  Then  I  found  a  bottle 
of  peroxide  of  hydrogen.  I  washed  out  her  stom- 
ach with  it,  and  then  my  own.  Then  I  injected  some 
of  the  peroxide  into  various  parts  of  her  body. 
The  peroxide  of  hydrogen  and  hydrocyanic  acid, 
you  know,  make  oxamide,  which  is  a  harmless  com- 
pound. 

"  The  maid  put  Mrs.  Boncour  to  bed,  saved.  I 
went  to  my  house,  a  wreck.  Since  then  I  have  not 


THE  POISONED  PEN  n 

left  this  bed.     With  my  legs  paralysed  I  lie  here, 
expecting  each  hour  to  be  my  last." 

'  Would  you  taste  an  unknown  drug  again  to 
discover  the  nature  of  a  probable  poison?"  asked 
Craig. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  answered  slowly,  "  but  I  sup- 
pose I  would.  In  such  a  case  a  conscientious  doctor 
has  no  thought  of  self.  He  is  there  to  do  things, 
and  he  does  them,  according  to  the  best  that  is 
in  him.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  haven't  had 
one  hour  of  unbroken  sleep  since  that  fatal  day,  I 
suppose  I  would  do  it  again." 

When  we  were  leaving,  I  remarked:  "  That  is  a 
martyr  to  science.  Could  anything  be  more  dra- 
matic than  his  willing  penalty  for  his  devotion  to 
medicine?  " 

We  walked  along  in  silence.  "  Walter,  did  you 
notice  he  said  not  a  word  of  condemnation  of  Dixon, 
though  the  note  was  before  his  eyes?  Surely  Dixon 
has  some  strong  supporters  in  Danbridge,  as  well 
as  enemies." 

The  next  morning  we  continued  our  investigation. 
We  found  Dixon's  lawyer,  Leland,  in  consultation 
with  his  client  in  the  bare  cell  of  the  county  jail. 
Dixon  proved  to  be  a  clear-eyed,  clean-cut  young 
man.  The  thing  that  impressed  me  most  about  him, 
aside  from  the  prepossession  in  his  favour  due  to 
the  faith  of  Alma  Willard,  was  the  nerve  he  dis- 
played, whether  guilty  or  innocent.  Even  an  inno- 
cent man  might  well  have  been  staggered  by  the 
circumstantial  evidence  against  him  and  the  high 
tide  of  public  feeling,  in  spite  of  the  support  that 


12  THE  POISONED  PEN 

he  was  receiving.  Leland,  we  learned,  had  been 
very  active.  By  prompt  work  at  the  time  of  the 
young  doctor's  arrest  he  had  managed  to  secure 
the  greater  part  of  Dr.  Dixon's  personal  letters, 
though  the  prosecutor  secured  some,  the  contents  of 
which  had  not  been  disclosed. 

Kennedy  spent  most  of  the  day  in  tracing  out  the 
movements  of  Thurston.  Nothing  that  proved  im- 
portant was  turned  up,  and  even  visits  to  near-by 
towns  failed  to  show  any  sales  of  cyanide  or  sub- 
limate to  any  one  not  entitled  to  buy  them.  Mean- 
while, in  turning  over  the  gossip  of  the  town,  one 
of  the  newspapermen  ran  across  the  fact  that  the 
Boncour  bungalow  was  owned  by  the  Posts,  and 
that  Halsey  Post,  as  the  executor  of  the  estate,  was 
a  more  frequent  visitor  than  the  mere  collection  of 
the  rent  would  warrant.  Mrs.  Boncour  maintained 
a  stolid  silence  that  covered  a  seething  internal  fury 
when  the  newspaperman  in  question  hinted  that  the 
landlord  and  tenant  were  on  exceptionally  good 
terms. 

It  was  after  a  fruitless  day  of  such  search  that 
we  were  sitting  in  the  reading-room  of  the  Fairfield 
Hotel.  Leland  entered.  His  face  was  positively 
white.  Without  a  word  he  took  us  by  the  arm  and 
led  us  across  Main  Street  and  up  a  flight  of  stairs 
to  his  office.  Then  he  locked  the  door. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  asked  Kennedy. 

"  When  I  took  this  case,"  he  said,  "  I  believed 
down  in  my  heart  that  Dixon  was  innocent.  I  still 
believe  it,  but  my  faith  has  been  rudely  shaken.  I 
feel  that  you  should  know  about  what  I  have  just 


THE  POISONED  PEN  13 

found.  As  I  told  you,  we  secured  nearly  all  of 
Dr.  Dixon's  letters.  I  had  not  read  them  all  then. 
But  I  have  been  going  through  them  to-night.  Here 
is  a  letter  from  Vera  Lytton  herself.  You  will  no- 
tice it  is  dated  the  day  of  her  death." 

He  laid  the  letter  before  us.  It  was  written  in 
a  curious  greyish-black  ink  in  a  woman's  hand,  and 
read: 


DEAR  HARRIS: 

Since  we  agreed  to  disagree  we  have  at  least  been  good 
friends,  if  no  longer  lovers.  I  am  not  writing  in  anger  to 
reproach  you  with  your  new  love,  so  soon  after  the  old. 
I  suppose  Alma  Willard  is  far  better  suited  to  be  your 
wife  than  is  a  poor  little  actress — rather  looked  down  on 
in  this  Puritan  society  here.  But  there  is  something  I  wish 
to  warn  you  about,  for  it  concerns  us  all  intimately. 

We  are  in  danger  of  an  awful  mix-up  if  we  don't  look 
out.  Mr.  Thurston — I  had  almost  said  my  husband,  though 
I  don't  know  whether  that  is  the  truth  or  not — who  has 
just  come  over  from  New  York,  tells  me  that  there  is  some 
doubt  about  the  validity  of  our  divorce.  You  recall  he  was 
in  the  South  at  the  time  I  sued  him,  and  the  papers  were 
served  on  him  in  Georgia.  He  now  says  the  proof  of  service 
was  fraudulent  and  that  he  can  set  aside  the  divorce.  In 
that  case  you  might  figure  in  a  suit  for  alienating  my 
affections. 

I  do  not  write  this  with  ill  will,  but  simply  to  let  you 
know  how  things  stand.  If  we  had  married,  I  suppose  I 
would  be  guilty  of  bigamy.  At  any  rate,  if  he  were  dis- 
posed he  could  make  a  terrible  scandal. 

Oh,  Harris,  can't  you  settle  with  him  if  he  asks  anything? 
Don't  forget  so  soon  that  we  once  thought  we  were  going 
to  be  the  happiest  of  mortals — at  least  I  did.  Don't  desert 
me,  or  the  very  earth  will  cry  out  against  you.  I  am  frantic 
and  hardly  know  what  I  am  writing.  My  head  aches,  but 


i4  THE  POISONED  PEN 

it  is  my  heart  that  is  breaking.  Harris,  I  am  yours  still, 
down  in  my  heart,  but  not  to  be  cast  off  like  an  old  suit 
for  a  new  one.  You  know  the  old  saying  about  a  woman 
scorned.  I  beg  you  not  to  go  back  on 

Your  poor  little  deserted 

VERA. 

As  we  finished  reading,  Leland  exclaimed,  "  That 
never  must  come  before  the  jury." 

Kennedy  was  examining  the  letter  carefully. 
"  Strange,"  he  muttered.  "  See  how  it  was  folded. 
It  was  written  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  sheet,  or 
rather  folded  up  with  the  writing  outside.  Where 
have  these  letters  been?  " 

"  Part  of  the  time  in  my  safe,  part  of  the  time 
this  afternoon  on  my  desk  by  the  window." 

"  ,The  office  was  locked,  I  suppose?  "  asked  Ken- 
nedy. "  There  was  no  way  to  slip  this  letter  in 
among  the  others  since  you  obtained  them?  " 

"  None.  The  office  has  been  locked,  and  there  is 
no  evidence  of  any  one  having  entered  or  disturbed 
a  thing." 

He  was  hastily  running  over  the  pile  of  letters 
as  if  looking  to  see  whether  they  were  all  there. 
Suddenly  he  stopped. 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed  excitedly,  "  one  of  them  is 
gone."  Nervously  he  fumbled  through  them  again. 
"  One  is  gone,"  he  repeated,  looking  at  us,  startled. 

"  What  was  it  about?  "  asked  Craig. 

'*  It  was  a  note  from  an  artist,  Thurston,  who 
gave  the  address  of  Mrs.  Boncour's  bungalow — ah, 
I  see  you  have  heard  of  him.  He  asked  Dixon's 
recommendation  of  a  certain  patent  headache  medi- 


THE  POISONED  PEN  15 

cine.  I  thought  it  possibly  evidential,  and  I  asked 
Dixon  about  it.  He  explained  it  by  saying  that 
he  did  not  have  a  copy  of  his  reply,  but  as  near 
as  he  could  recall,  he  wrote  that  the  compound 
would  not  cure  a  headache  except  at  the  expense  of 
reducing  heart  action  dangerously.  He  says  he  sent 
no  prescription.  Indeed,  he  thought  it  a  scheme  to 
extract  advice  without  incurring  the  charge  for  an 
office  call  and  answered  it  only  because  he  thought 
Vera  had  become  reconciled  to  Thurston  again.  I 
can't  find  that  letter  of  Thurston's.  It  is  gone." 

We  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

"  Why,  if  Dixon  contemplated  anything  against 
Miss  Lytton,  should  he  preserve  this  letter  from 
her?"  mused  Kennedy.  "Why  didn't  he  destroy 
it?" 

"  That's  what  puzzles  me,"  remarked  Leland. 
"  Do  you  suppose  some  one  has  broken  in  and  sub- 
stituted this  Lytton  letter  for  the  Thurston  letter?  " 

Kennedy  was  scrutinising  the  letter,  saying  noth- 
ing. "  I  may  keep  it?  "  he  asked  at  length.  Leland 
was  quite  willing  and  even  undertook  to  obtain  some 
specimens  of  the  writing  of  Vera  Lytton.  With 
these  and  the  letter  Kennedy  was  working  far  into 
the  night  and  long  after  I  had  passed  into  a  land 
troubled  with  many  wild  dreams  of  deadly  poisons 
and  secret  intrigues  of  artists. 

The  next  morning  a  message  from  our  old 
friend  First  Deputy  O'Connor  in  New  York  told 
briefly  of  locating  the  rooms  of  an  artist  named 
Thurston  in  one  of  the  co-operative  studio  apart- 
ments. Thurston  himself  had  not  been  there  for 


1 6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

several  days  and  was  reported  to  have  gone  to 
Maine  to  sketch.  He  had  had  a  number  of  debts, 
but  before  he  left  they  had  all  been  paid — strange 
to  say,  by  a  notorious  firm  of  shyster  lawyers,  Kerr 
&  Kimmel.  Kennedy  wired  back  to  find  out  the 
facts  from  Kerr  &  Kimmel  and  to  locate  Thurston 
at  any  cost. 

Even  the  discovery  of  the  new  letter  did  not 
shake  the  wonderful  self-possession  of  Dr.  Dixon. 
He  denied  ever  having  received  it  and  repeated 
his  story  of  a  letter  from  Thurston  to  which  he 
had  replied  by  sending  an  answer,  care  of  Mrs. 
Boncour,  as  requested.  He  insisted  that  the  en- 
gagement between  Miss  Lytton  and  himself  had 
been  broken  before  the  announcement  of  his  en- 
gagement with  Miss  Willard.  As  for  Thurston, 
he  said  the  man  was  little  more  than  a  name  to 
him.  He  had  known  perfectly  all  the  circumstances 
of  the  divorce,  but  had  had  no  dealings  with  Thurs- 
ton and  no  fear  of  him.  Again  and  again  he  denied 
ever  receiving  the  letter  from  Vera  Lytton. 

Kennedy  did  not  tell  the  Willards  of  the  new 
letter.  The  strain  had  begun  to  tell  on  Alma,  and 
her  father  had  had  her  quietly  taken  to  a  farm 
of  his  up  in  the  country.  To  escape  the  curious 
eyes  of  reporters,  Halsey  Post  had  driven  up  one 
night  in  his  closed  car.  She  had  entered  it  quickly 
with  ker  father,  and  the  journey  had  been  made 
in  the  car,  while  Halsey  Post  had  quietly  dropped 
off  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  where  another  car 
was  waiting  to  take  him  back.  It  was  evident  that 
the  Willard  family  relied  implicitly  on  Halsey,  and 


THE  POISONED  PEN  17 

his  assistance  to  them  was  most  considerate.  While 
he  never  forced  himself  forward,  he  kept  in  close 
touch  with  the  progress  of  the  case,  and  now  that 
Alma  was  away  his  watchfulness  increased  propor- 
tionately, and  twice  a  day  he  wrote  a  long  report 
which  was  sent  to  her. 

Kennedy  was  now  bending  every  e-ffort  to  locate 
the  missing  artist.  When  he  left  Danbridge,  he 
seemed  to  have  dropped  out  of  sight  completely. 
However,  with  O'Connor's  aid,  the  police  of  all 
New  England  were  on  the  lookout. 

The  Thurstons  had  been  friends  of  Halsey's  be- 
fore Vera  Lytton  had  ever  met  Dr.  Dixon,  we 
discovered  from  the  Danbridge  gossips,  and  I,  at 
least,  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  Halsey  was 
shielding  the  artist,  perhaps  through  a  sense  of 
friendship  when  he  found  that  Kennedy  was  in- 
terested in  Thurston's  movement.  I  must  say  I 
rather  liked  Halsey,  for  he  seemed  very  thoughtful 
of  the  Willards,  and  was  never  too  busy  to  give 
an  hour  or  so  to  any  commission  they  wished  carried 
out  without  publicity. 

Two  days  passed  with  not  a  word  from  Thurston. 
Kennedy  was  obviously  getting  impatient.  One  day 
a  rumour  was  received  that  he  was  in  Bar  Harbour; 
the  next  it  was  a  report  from  Nova  Scotia.  At  last, 
however,  came  the  welcome  news  that  he  had  been 
located  in  New  Hampshire,  arrested,  and  might  be 
expected  the  next  day. 

At  once  Kennedy  became  all  energy.  He 
arranged  for  a  secret  conference  in  Senator  Wil- 
lard's  house,  the  moment  the  artist  was  to  arrive. 


1 8  THE  POISONED  PEN 

The  senator  and  his  daughter  made  a  flying  trip 
back  to  town.  Nothing  was  said  to  any  one  about 
Thurston,  but  Kennedy  quietly  arranged  with  the 
district  attorney  to  be  present  with  the  note  and 
the  jar  of  ammonia  properly  safeguarded.  Leland 
of  course  came,  although  his  client  could  not. 
Halsey  Post  seemed  only  too  glad  to  be  with  Miss 
Willard,  though  he  seemed  to  have  lost  interest 
in  the  case  as  soon  as  the  Willards  returned  to  look 
after  it  themselves.  Mrs.  Boncour  was  well  enough 
to  attend,  and  even  Dr.  Waterworth  insisted  on 
coming  in  a  private  ambulance  which  drove  over 
from  a  near-by  city  especially  for  him.  The  time 
was  fixed  just  before  the  arrival  of  the  train  that 
was  to  bring  Thurston. 

It  was  an  anxious  gathering  of  friends  and  foes 
of  Dr.  Dixon  who  sat  impatiently  waiting  for  Ken- 
nedy to  begin  this  momentous  exposition  that  was 
to  establish  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  calm  young 
physician  who  sat  impassively  in  the  jail  not  half 
a  mile  from  the  room  where  his  life  and  death 
were  being  debated. 

"  In  many  respects  this  is  the  most  remarkable 
case  that  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  handle,"  began 
Kennedy.  "  Never  before  have  I  felt  so  keenly 
my  sense  of  responsibility.  Therefore,  though  this 
is  a  somewhat  irregular  proceeding,  let  me  begin 
by  setting  forth  the  facts  as  I  see  them. 

"  First,  let  us  consider  the  dead  woman.  The 
question  that  arises  here  is,  Was  she  murdered  or 
did  she  commit  suicide?  I  think  you  will  discover 
the  answer  as  I  proceed.  Miss  Lytton,  as  you 


THE  POISONED  PEN  19 

know,  was,  two  years  ago,  Mrs.  Burgess  Thurston. 
The  Thurstons  had  temperament,  and  temperament 
is  quite  often  the  highway  to  the  divorce  court.  It 
was  so  in  this  case.  Mrs.  Thurston  discovered  that 
her  husband  was  paying  much  attention  to  other 
women.  She  sued  for  divorce  in  New  York,  and 
he  accepted  service  in  the  South,  where  he  happened 
to  be.  At  least  it  was  so  testified  by  Mrs.  Thurs- 
ton's  lawyer. 

"  Now  here  comes  the  remarkable  feature  of  the 
case.  The  law  firm  of  Kerr  &  Kimmel,  I  find,  not 
long  ago  began  to  investigate  the  legality  of  this 
divorce.  Before  a  notary  Thurston  made  an  affi- 
davit that  he  had  never  been  served  by  the  lawyer 
for  Miss  Lytton,  as  she  was  now  known.  Her 
lawyer  is  dead,  but  his  representative  in  the  South 
who  served  the  papers  is  alive.  He  was  brought 
to  New  York  and  asserted  squarely  that  he  had 
served  the  papers  properly. 

"  Here  is  where  the  shrewdness  of  Mose  Kimmel, 
the  shyster  lawyer,  came  in.  He  arranged  to  have 
the  Southern  attorney  identify  the  man  he  had  served 
the  papers  on.  For  this  purpose  he  was  engaged 
in  conversation  with  one  of  his  own  clerks  when 
the  lawyer  was  due  to  appear.  Kimmel  appeared 
to  act  confused,  as  if  he  had  been  caught  napping. 
The  Southern  lawyer,  who  had  seen  Thurston  only 
once,  fell  squarely  into  the  trap  and  identified  the 
clerk  as  Thurston.  There  were  plenty  of  witnesses 
to  it,  and  it  was  point  number  two  for  the  great 
Mose  Kimmel.  Papers  were  drawn  up  to  set  aside 
the  divorce  decree. 


20  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  In  the  meantime,  Miss  Lytton,  or  Mrs.  Thurs- 
ton,  had  become  acquainted  with  a  young  doctor  in 
a  New  York  hospital,  and  had  become  engaged 
to  him.  It  matters  not  that  the  engagement  was 
later  broken.  The  fact  remains  that  if  the  divorce 
were  set  aside  an  action  would  lie  against  Dr.  Dixon 
for  alienating  Mrs.  Thurston's  affections,  and  a 
grave  scandal  would  result.  I  need  not  add  that 
in  this  quiet  little  town  of  Danbridge  the  most  could 
be  made  of  such  a  suit." 

Kennedy  was  unfolding  a  piece  of  paper.  As 
he  laid  it  down,  Leland,  who  was  sitting  next  to 
me,  exclaimed  under  his  breath: 

**  My  God,  he's  going  to  let  the  prosecutor  know 
about  that  letter.  Can't  you  stop  him?" 

It  was  too  late.  Kennedy  had  already  begun  to 
read  Vera's  letter.  It  was  damning  to  Dixon,  added 
to  the  other  note  found  in  the  ammonia-jar. 

When  he  had  finished  reading,  you  could  almost 
hear  the  hearts  throbbing  in  the  room.  A  scowl 
overspread  Senator  Willard's  features.  Alma  Wil- 
lard  was  pale  and  staring  wildly  at  Kennedy.  Hal- 
sey  Post,  ever  solicitous  for  her,  handed  her  a  glass 
of  water  from  the  table.  Dr.  Waterworth  had 
forgotten  his  pain  in  his  intense  attention,  and  Mrs. 
Boncour  seemed  stunned  with  astonishment.  The 
prosecuting  attorney  was  eagerly  taking  notes. 

"  In  some  way,"  pursued  Kennedy  in  an  even 
voice,  "  this  letter  was  either  overlooked  in  the 
original  correspondence  of  Dr.  Dixon  or  it  was 
added  to  it  later.  I  shall  come  back  to  that  pres- 
ently. My  next  point  is  that  Dr.  Dixon  says  he 


THE  POISONED  PEN  21 

received  a  letter  from  Thurston  on  the  day  the 
artist  visited  the  Boncour  bungalow.  It  asked  about 
a  certain  headache  compound,  and  his  reply  was 
brief  and,  as  nearly  as  I  can  find  out,  read,  *  This 
compound  will  not  cure  your  headache  except  at  the 
expense  of  reducing  heart  action  dangerously.' 

"  Next  comes  the  tragedy.  On  the  evening  of 
the  day  that  Thurston  left,  after  presumably  telling 
Miss  Lytton  about  what  Kerr  &  Kimmel  had  dis- 
covered, Miss  Lytton  is  found  dying  with  a  bottle 
containing  cyanide  and  sublimate  beside  her.  You 
are  all  familiar  with  the  circumstances  and  with  the 
note  discovered  in  the  jar  of  ammonia.  Now,  if 
the  prosecutor  will  be  so  kind  as  to  let  me  see  that 
note — thank  you,  sir.  This  is  the  identical  note. 
You  have  all  heard  the  various  theories  of  the  jar 
and  have  read  the  note.  Here  it  is  in  plain,  cold 
black  and  white — in  Dr.  Dixon's  own  handwriting, 
as  you  know,  and  reads :  '  This  will  cure  your  head- 
ache. Dr.  Dixon.' ' 

Alma  Willard  seemed  as  one  paralysed.  Was 
Kennedy,  who  had  been  engaged  by  her  father  to 
defend  her  fiance,  about  to  convict  him? 

"  Before  we  draw  the  final  conclusion,"  continued 
Kennedy  gravely,  "  there  are  one  or  two  points  I 
wish  to  elaborate.  Walter,  will  you  open  that  door 
into  the  main  hall?  " 

I  did  so,  and  two  policemen  stepped  in  with  a 
prisoner.  It  was  Thurston,  but  changed  almost 
beyond  recognition.  His  clothes  were  worn,  his 
beard  shaved  off,  and  he  had  a  generally  hunted 
appearance. 


22  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Thurston  was  visibly  nervous.  Apparently  he 
had  heard  all  that  Kennedy  had  said  and  intended 
he  should  hear,  for  as  he  entered  he  almost  broke 
away  from  the  police  officers  in  his  eagerness  to 
speak. 

"  Before  God,"  he  cried  dramatically,  "  I  am  as 
innocent  as  you  are  of  this  crime,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy." 

"  Are  you  prepared  to  swear  before  me"  almost 
shouted  Kennedy,  his  eyes  blazing,  "  that  you  were 
never  served  properly  by  your  wife's  lawyers  in 
that  suit?  " 

The  man  cringed  back  as  if  a  stinging  blow  had 
been  delivered  between  his  eyes.  As  he  met  Craig's 
fixed  glare  he  knew  there  was  no  hope.  Slowly, 
as  if  the  words  were  being  wrung  from  him  syl- 
lable by  syllable,  he  said  in  a  muffled  voice: 

"  No,  I  perjured  myself.  I  was  served  in  that 
suit.  But " 

"  And  you  swore  falsely  before  Kimmel  that  you 
were  not?"  persisted  Kennedy. 

'  Yes,"  he  murmured.     "  But " 

"  And  you  are  prepared  now  to  make  another 
affidavit  to  that  effect?" 

1  Yes,"  he  replied.     "  If " 

"  No  buts  or  ifs,  Thurston,"  cried  Kennedy  sar- 
castically. "  What  did  you  make  that  affidavit  for? 
What  is  your  story?  " 

"  Kimmel  sent  for  me.  I  did  not  go  to  him. 
He  offered  to  pay  my  debts  if  I  would  swear  to 
such  a  statement.  I  did  not  ask  why  or  for  whom. 
I  swore  to  it  and  gave  him  a  list  of  my  creditors. 


THE  POISONED  PEN  23 

I  waited  until  they  were  paid.  Then  my  con- 
science " — I  could  not  help  revolting  at  the  thought 
of  conscience  in  such  a  wretch,  and  the  word  itself 
seemed  to  stick  in  his  throat  as  he  went  on  and 
saw  how  feeble  an  impression  he  was  making  on 
us — "  my  conscience  began  to  trouble  me.  I  de- 
termined to  see  Vera,  tell  her  all,  and  find  out 
whether  it  was  she  who  wanted  this  statement.  I 
saw  her.  When  at  last  I  told  her,  she  scorned  me. 
I  can  confirm  that,  for  as  I  left  a  man  entered.  I 
now  knew  how  grossly  I  had  sinned,  in  listening  to 
Mose  Kimmel.  I  fled.  I  disappeared  in  Maine. 
I  travelled.  Every  day  my  money  grew  less.  At 
last  I  was  overtaken,  captured,  and  brought  back 
here." 

He  stopped  and  sank  wretchedly  down  in  a  chair 
and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  A  likely  story,"  muttered  Leland  in  my  ear. 

Kennedy  was  working  quickly.  Motioning  the 
officers  to  be  seated  by  Thurston,  he  uncovered  a 
jar  which  he  had  placed  on  the  table.  The  colour 
had  now  appeared  in  Alma's  cheeks,  as  if  hope 
had  again  sprung  in  her  heart,  and  I  fancied  that 
Halsey  Post  saw  his  claim  on  her  favour  declining 
correspondingly. 

"  I  want  you  to  examine  the  letters  in  this  case 
with  me,"  continued  Kennedy.  "  Take  the  letter 
which  I  read  from  Miss  Lytton,  which  was  found 
following  the  strange  disappearance  of  the  note 
from  Thurston." 

He  dipped  a  pen  into  a  little  bottle,  and  wrote 
on  a  piece  of  paper: 


24  THE  POISONED  PEN 

What   is  your  opinion  about   Cross's   Headache   Cure? 
Would  you  recommend  it  for  a  nervous  headache? 

BURGESS  THURSTON, 

clo  MRS.  S.  BONCOUR. 


Craig  held  up  the  writing  so  that  we  could  all 
see  that  he  had  written  what  Dixon  declared  Thurs- 
ton  wrote  in  the  note  that  had  disappeared.  Then 
he  dipped  another  pen  into  a  second  bottle,  and 
for  some  time  he  scrawled  on  another  sheet  of 
paper.  He  held  it  up,  but  it  was  still  perfectly 
blank. 

"  Now,"  he  added,  "  I  am  going  to  give  a  little 
demonstration  which  I  expect  to  be  successful  only 
in  a  measure.  Here  in  the  open  sunshine  by  this 
window  I  am  going  to  place  these  two  sheets  of 
paper  side  by  side.  It  will  take  longer  than  I  care 
to  wait  to  make  my  demonstration  complete,  but  I 
can  do  enough  to  convince  you." 

For  a  quarter  of  an  hour  we  sat  in  silence,  won- 
dering what  he  would  do  next.  At  last  he  beckoned 
us  over  to  the  window.  As  we  approached  he  said, 
"  On  sheet  number  one  I  have  written  with  quino- 
line;  on  sheet  number  two  I  wrote  with  a  solution 
of  nitrate  of  silver." 

We  bent  over.  The  writing  signed  "  Thurston  " 
on  sheet  number  one  was  faint,  almost  imperceptible, 
but  on  paper  number  two,  in  black  letters,  appeared 
what  Kennedy  had  written:  "Dear  Harris:  Since 
we  agreed  to  disagree  we  have  at  least  been  good 
friends." 

"  It  is  like  the  start  of  the  substituted  letter,  and 


THE  POISONED  PEN  25 

the  other  is  like  the  missing  note,"  gasped  Leland 
in  a  daze. 

"  Yes,"  said  Kennedy  quickly.  "  Leland,  no  one 
entered  your  office.  No  one  stole  the  Thurston 
note.  No  one  substituted  the  Lytton  letter.  Ac- 
cording to  your  own  story,  you  took  them  out  of 
the  safe  and  left  them  in  the  sunlight  all  day.  The 
process  that  had  been  started  earlier  in  ordinary 
light,  slowly,  was  now  quickly  completed.  In  other 
wordst  there  was  writing  which  would  soon  fade 
away  on  one  side  of  the  paper  and  writing  which 
was  invisible  but  would  soon  appear  on  the  other. 

"  For  instance,  quinoline  rapidly  disappears  in 
sunlight.  Starch  with  a  slight  trace  of  iodine  writes 
a  light  blue,  which  disappears  in  air.  It  was  some- 
thing like  that  used  in  the  Thurston  letter.  Then, 
too,  silver  nitrate  dissolved  in  ammonia  gradually 
turns  black  as  it  is  acted  on  by  light  and  air.  Or 
magenta  treated  with  a  bleaching-agent  in  just  suffi- 
cient quantity  to  decolourise  it  is  invisible  when  used 
for  writing.  But  the  original  colour  reappears  as 
the  oxygen  of  the  air  acts  upon  the  pigment.  I 
haven't  a  doubt  but  that  my  analyses  of  the  inks 
are  correct  and  on  one  side  quinoline  was  used  and 
on  the  other  nitrate  of  silver.  This  explains  the 
inexplicable  disappearance  of  evidence  incriminating 
one  person,  Thurston,  and  the  sudden  appearance 
of  evidence  incriminating  another,  Dr.  Dixon.  Sym- 
pathetic ink  also  accounts  for  the  curious  circum- 
stance that  the  Lytton  letter  was  folded  up  with 
the  writing  apparently  outside.  It  was  outside  and 
unseen  until  the  sunlight  brought  it  out  and  de- 


26  THE  POISONED  PEN 

stroyed  the  other,  inside,  writing — a  change,  I  sus- 
pect, that  was  intended  for  the  police  to  see  after 
it  was  completed,  not  for  the  defence  to  witness 
as  it  was  taking  place." 

We  looked  at  each  other  aghast.  Thurston  was 
nervously  opening  and  shutting  his  lips  and  moisten- 
ing them  as  if  he  wanted  to  say  something  but  could 
not  find  the  words. 

"  Lastly,"  went  on  Craig,  utterly  regardless  of 
Thurston's  frantic  efforts  to  speak,  "  we  come  to 
the  note  that  was  discovered  so  queerly  crumpled 
up  in  the  jar  of  ammonia  on  Vera  Lytton's  dressing- 
table.  I  have  here  a  cylindrical  glass  jar  in  which 
I  place  some  sal-ammoniac  and  quicklime.  I  will 
wet  it  and  heat  it  a  little.  That  produces  the  pun- 
gent gas  of  ammonia. 

"  On  one  side  of  this  third  piece  of  paper  I 
myself  write  with  this  mercurous  nitrate  solution. 
You  see,  I  leave  no  mark  on  the  paper  as  I  write. 
I  fold  it  up  and  drop  it  into  the  jar — and  in  a  few 
seconds  withdraw  it.  Here  is  a  very  quick  way 
of  producing  something  like  the  slow  result  of  sun- 
light with  silver  nitrate.  The  fumes  of  ammonia 
have  formed  the  precipitate  of  black  mercurous 
nitrate,  a  very  distinct  black  writing  which  is  almost 
indelible.  That  is  what  is  technically  called  invis- 
ible rather  than  sympathetic  ink." 

We  leaned  over  to  read  what  he  had  written.  It 
was  the  same  as  the  note  incriminating  Dixon: 


This  will  cure  your  headache. 

DR.  DIXON. 


THE  POISONED  PEN  27 

A  servant  entered  with  a  telegram  from  New 
York.  Scarcely  stopping  in  his  exposure,  Kennedy 
tore  it  open,  read  it  hastily,  stuffed  it  into  his  pocket, 
and  went  on. 

"  Here  in  this  fourth  bottle  I  have  an  acid  solu- 
tion of  iron  chloride,  diluted  until  the  writing  is 
invisible  when  dry,"  he  hurried  on.  "  I  will  just 
make  a  few  scratches  on  this  fourth  sheet  of  paper 
— so.  It  leaves  no  mark.  But  it  has  the  remark- 
able property  of  becoming  red  in  vapour  of  sulpho- 
cyanide.  Here  is  a  long-necked  flask  of  the  gas, 
made  by  sulphuric  acid  acting  on  potassium  sulpho- 
cyanide.  Keep  back,  Dr.  Waterworth,  for  it  would 
be  very  dangerous  for  you  to  get  even  a  whiff  of 
this  in  your  condition.  Ah!  See — the  scratches 
I  made  on  the  paper  are  red." 

Then  hardly  giving  us  more  than  a  moment  to 
let  the  fact  impress  itself  on  our  minds,  he  seized 
the  piece  of  paper  and  dashed  it  into  the  jar  of 
ammonia.  When  he  withdrew  it,  it  was  just  a  plain 
sheet  of  white  paper  again.  The  red  marks  which 
the  gas  in  the  flask  had  brought  out  of  nothingness 
had  been  effaced  by  the  ammonia.  They  had  gone 
and  left  no  trace. 

"  In  this  way  I  can  alternately  make  the  marks 
appear  and  disappear  by  using  the  sulpho-cyanide 
and  the  ammonia.  Whoever  wrote  this  note  with 
Dr.  Dixon's  name  on  it  must  have  had  the  doctor's 
reply  to  the  Thurston  letter  containing  the  words, 
'  This  will  not  cure  your  headache.'  He  carefully 
traced  the  words,  holding  the  genuine  note  up  to  the 
light  with  a  piece  of  paper  over  it,  leaving  out  the 


28  THE  POISONED  PEN 

word  '  not '  and  using  only  such  words  as  he  needed. 
This  note  was  then  destroyed. 

"  But  he  forgot  that  after  he  had  brought  out  the 
red  writing  by  the  use  of  the  sulpho-cyanide,  and 
though  he  could  count  on  Vera  Lytton's  placing  the 
note  in  the  jar  of  ammonia  and  hence  obliterating 
the  writing,  while  at  the  same  time  the  invisible 
writing  in  the  mercurous  nitrate  involving  Dr. 
Dixon's  name  would  be  brought  out  by  the  ammonia 
indelibly  on  the  other  side  of  the  note — he  forgot  " 
— Kennedy  was  now  speaking  eagerly  and  loudly — 
"  that  the  sulpho-cyanide  vapours  could  always  be 
made  to  bring  back  to  accuse  him  the  words  that 
the  ammonia  had  blotted  out." 

Before  the  prosecutor  could  interfere,  Kennedy 
had  picked  up  the  note  found  in  the  ammonia-jar 
beside  the  dying  girl  and  had  jammed  the  state's 
evidence  into  the  long-necked  flask  of  sulpho-cyanide 
vapour. 

"  Don't  fear,"  he  said,  trying  to  pacify  the  now 
furious  prosecutor,  *'  it  will  do  nothing  to  the  Dixon 
writing.  That  is  permanent  now,  even  if  it  is  only 
a  tracing." 

When  he  withdrew  the  note,  there  was  writing 
on  both  sides,  the  black  of  the  original  note  and 
something  in  red  on  the  other  side. 

We  crowded  around,  and  Craig  read  it  with  as 
much  interest  as  any  of  us: 

"  Before  taking  the  headache-powder,  be  sure 
to  place  the  contents  of  this  paper  in  a  jar  with  a 
little  warm  water." 

"  Hum,"   commented  Craig,   "  this  was   appar- 


THE  POISONED  PEN  29 

ently  written  on  the  outside  wrapper  of  a  paper 
folded  about  some  sal-ammoniac  and  quicklime.  It 
goes  on: 

"  '  Just  drop  the  whole  thing  in,  paper  and  all. 
Then  if  you  feel  a  faintness  from  the  medicine 
the  ammonia  will  quickly  restore  you.  One  spoon- 
ful of  the  headache-powder  swallowed  quickly  is 
enough.'  ' 

No  name  was  signed  to  the  directions,  but  they 
were  plainly  written,  and  "  paper  and  all "  was 
underscored  heavily. 

Craig  pulled  out  some  letters.  "  I  have  here 
specimens  of  writing  of  many  persons  connected 
with  this  case,  but  I  can  see  at  a  glance  which  one 
corresponds  to  the  writing  on  this  red  death-warrant 
by  an  almost  inhuman  fiend.  I  shall,  however,  leave 
that  part  of  it  to  the  handwriting  experts  to  de- 
termine at  the  trial.  Thurston,  who  was  the  man 
whom  you  saw  enter  the  Boncour  bungalow  as  you 
left — the  constant  visitor?  " 

Thurston  had  not  yet  regained  his  self-control, 
but  with  trembling  forefinger  he  turned  and  pointed 
to  Halsey  Post. 

"  Yes,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  cried  Kennedy  as 
he  slapped  the  telegram  that  had  just  come  from 
New  York  down  on  the  table  decisively,  "  yes,  the 
real  client  of  Kerr  &  Kimmel,  who  bent  Thurston 
to  his  purposes,  was  Halsey  Post,  once  secret  lover 
of  Vera  Lytton  till  threatened  by  scandal  in  Dan- 
bridge — Halsey  Post,  graduate  in  technology,  stu- 
dent of  sympathetic  inks,  forger  of  the  Vera  Lytton 
letter  and  the  other  notes,  and  dealer  in  cyanides 


30  THE  POISONED  PEN 

in  the  silver-smithing  business,  fortune-hunter  for 
the  Willard  millions  with  which  to  recoup  the  Post 
&  Vance  losses,  and  hence  rival  of  Dr.  Dixon  for 
the  love  of  Alma  Willard.  That  is  the  man  who 
wielded  the  poisoned  pen.  Dr.  Dixon  is  innocent." 


II 

THE  YEGGMAN 

"HELLO!  Yes,  this  is  Professor  Kennedy.  I 
didn't  catch  the  name — oh,  yes — President  Blake  of 
the  Standard  Burglary  Insurance  Company.  What 
— really?  The  Branford  pearls — stolen?  Maid 
chloroformed?  Yes,  I'll  take  the  case.  You'll  be 
up  in  half  an  hour?  All  right,  I'll  be  here.  Good- 
bye." 

It  was  through  this  brief  and  businesslike  con- 
versation over  the  telephone  that  Kennedy  became 
involved  in  what  proved  to  be  one  of  the  most 
dangerous  cases  he  had  ever  handled. 

At  the  mention  of  the  Branford  pearls  I  involun- 
tarily stopped  reading,  and  listened,  not  because  I 
wanted  to  pry  into  Craig's  affairs,  but  because  I 
simply  couldn't  help  it.  This  was  news  that  had 
not  yet  been  given  out  to  the  papers,  and  my  in- 
stinct told  me  that  there  must  be  something  more 
to  it  than  the  bare  statement  of  the  robbery. 

"  Some  one  has  made  a  rich  haul,"  I  commented. 
"  It  was  reported,  I  remember,  when  the  Branford 
pearls  were  bought  in  Paris  last  year  that  Mrs. 
Branford  paid  upward  of  a  million  francs  for  the 
collection." 

"  Blake  is  bringing  up  his  shrewdest  detective  to 
co-operate  with  me  in  the  case,"  added  Kennedy. 
"  Blake,  I  understand,  is  the  head  of  the  Burglary 

31 


32  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Insurance  Underwriters'  Association,  too.  This 
will  be  a  big  thing,  Walter,  if  we  can  carry  it 
through." 

It  was  the  longest  half-hour  that  I  ever  put  in, 
waiting  for  Blake  to  arrive.  When  he  did  come, 
it  was  quite  evident  that  my  surmise  had  be'en 
correct. 

Blake  was  one  of  those  young  old  men  who  are 
increasingly  common  in  business  to-day.  There  was 
an  air  of  dignity  and  keenness  about  his  manner 
that  showed  clearly  how  important  he  regarded  the 
case.  So  anxious  was  he  to  get  down  to  business 
that  he  barely  introduced  himself  and  his  companion, 
Special  Officer  Maloney,  a  typical  private  detective. 

"  Of  course  you  haven't  heard  anything  except 
what  I  have  told  you  over  the  wire,"  he  began, 
going  right  to  the  point.  "  We  were  notified  of 
it  only  this  noon  ourselves,  and  we  haven't  given 
it  out  to  the  papers  yet,  though  the  local  police  in 
Jersey  are  now  on  the  scene.  The  New  York  police 
must  be  notified  to-night,  so  that  whatever  we  do 
must  be  done  before  they  muss  things  up.  We've 
got  a  clue  that  we  want  to  follow  up  secretly.  These 
are  the  facts." 

In  the  terse,  straightforward  language  of  the  up- 
to-date  man  of  efficiency,  he  sketched  the  situation 
for  us. 

"  The  Branford  estate,  you  know,  consists  of 
several  acres  on  the  mountain  back  of  Montclair, 
overlooking  the  valley,  and  surrounded  by  even 
larger  estates.  Branford,  I  understand,  is  in  the 
West  with  a  party  of  capitalists,  inspecting  a  re- 


THE  YEGGMAN  33 

ported  find  of  potash  salts.  Mrs.  Branford  closed 
up  the  house  a  few  days  ago  and  left  for  a  short 
stay  at  Palm  Beach.  Of  course  they  ought  to  have 
put  their  valuables  in  a  safe  deposit  vault.  But 
they  didn't.  They  relied  on  a  safe  that  was  really 
one  of  the  best  in  the  market — a  splendid  safe,  I 
may  say.  Well,  it  seems  that  while  the  master  and 
mistress  were  both  away  the  servants  decided  on 
having  a  good  time  in  New  York.  They  locked  up 
the  house  securely — there's  no  doubt  of  that — and 
just  went.  That  is,  they  all  went  except  Mrs.  Bran- 
ford's  maid,  who  refused  to  go  for  some  reason  or 
other.  We've  got  all  the  servants,  but  there's  not 
a  clue  to  be  had  from  any  of  them.  They  just  went 
off  on  a  bust,  that's  clear.  They  admit  it. 

"  Now,  when  they  got  back  early  this  morning 
they  found  the  maid  in  bed — dead.  There  was  still 
a  strong  odour  of  chloroform  about  the  room.  The 
bed  was  disarranged  as  if  there  had  been  a  struggle. 
A  towel  had  been  wrapped  up  in  a  sort  of  cone, 
saturated  with  chloroform,  and  forcibly  held  over 
the  girl's  nose.  The  next  thing  they  discovered  was 
the  safe — blown  open  in  a  most  peculiar  manner. 
I  won't  dwell  on  that.  We're  going  to  take  you 
out  there  and  show  it  to  you  after  I've  told  you  the 
whole  story. 

"  Here's  the  real  point.  It  looks  all  right,  so 
far.  The  local  police  say  that  the  thief  or  thieves, 
whoever  they  were,  apparently  gained  access  by 
breaking  a  back  window.  That's  mistake  number 
one.  Tell  Mr.  Kennedy  about  the  window, 
Maloney." 


34  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  It's  just  simply  this,"  responded  the  detective. 
"  When  I  came  to  look  at  the  broken  window  I 
found  that  the  glass  had  fallen  outside  in  such  a 
way  as  it  could  not  have  fallen  if  the  window  had 
been  broken  from  the  outside.  The  thing  was  a 
blind.  Whoever  did  it  got  into  the  house  in  some 
other  way  and  then  broke  the  glass  later  to  give  a 
false  clue." 

"  And,"  concluded  Blake,  taking  his  cigar  be- 
tween his  thumb  and  forefinger  and  shaking  it  to 
give  all  possible  emphasis  to  his  words,  "  we  have 
had  our  agent  at  Palm  Beach  on  long-distance  'phone 
twice  this  afternoon.  Mrs.  Branford  did  not  go  to 
Palm  Beach.  She  did  not  engage  rooms  in  any 
hotel  there.  And  furthermore  she  never  had  any 
intention  of  going  there.  By  a  fortunate  circum- 
stance Maloney  picked  up  a  hint  from  one  of  the 
servants,  and  he  has  located  her  at  the  Grattan  Inn 
in  this  city.  In  other  words,  Mrs.  Branford  has 
stolen  her  own  jewels  >from  herself  in  order  to 
collect  the  burglary  insurance — a  common-enough 
thing  in  itself,  but  never  to  my  knowledge  done  on 
such  a  large  scale  before." 

The  insurance  man  sank  back  in  his  chair  and 
surveyed  us  sharply. 

"  But,"  interrupted  Kennedy  slowly,  "  how 
about " 

"  I  know — the  maid,"  continued  Blake.  "  I  do 
not  mean  that  Mrs.  Branford  did  the  actual  steal- 
ing. Oh,  no.  That  was  done  by  a  yeggman  of 
experience.  He  must  have  been  above  the  average, 
but  everything  points  to  the  work  of  a  yeggman. 


THE  YEGGMAN  35 

She  hired  him.  But  he  overstepped  the  mark  when 
he  chloroformed  the  maid." 

For  a  moment  Kennedy  said  nothing.  Then  he 
remarked:  "  Let  us  go  out  and  see  the  safe.  There 
must  be  some  clue.  After  that  I  want  to  have  a 
talk  with  Mrs.  Branford.  By  the  way,"  he  added, 
as  we  all  rose  to  go  down  to  Blake's  car,  "  I  once 
handled  a  life  insurance  case  for  the  Great  Eastern. 
I  made  the  condition  that  I  was  to  handle  it  in  my 
own  way,  whether  it  went  for  or  against  the  com- 
pany. That's  understood,  is  it,  before  I  undertake 
the  case?  " 

"Yes,  yes,"  agreed  Blake.  "Get  at  the  truth. 
We're  not  seeking  to  squirm  out  of  meeting  an 
honest  liability.  Only  we  want  to  make  a  signal 
example  if  it  is  as  we  have  every  reason  to  believe. 
There  has  been  altogether  too  much  of  this  sort  of 
fake  burglary  to  collect  insurance,  and  as  president 
of  the  underwriters  it  is  my  duty  and  intention  to 
put  a  stop  to  it.  Come  on." 

Maloney  nodded  his  head  vigorously  in  assent 
with  his  chief.  "  Never  fear,"  he  murmured. 
"  The  truth  is  what  will  benefit  the  company,  all 
right.  She  did  it." 

The  Branford  estate  lay  some  distance  back  from 
the  railroad  station,  so  that,  although  it  took  longer 
to  go  by  automobile  than  by  train,  the  car  made 
us  independent  of  the  rather  fitful  night  train  service 
and  the  local  cabmen. 

We  found  the  house  not  deserted  by  the  servants, 
but  subdued.  The  body  of  the  maid  had  been  re- 
moved to  a  local  morgue,  and  a  police  officer  was 


36  THE  POISONED  PEN 

patrolling  the  grounds,  though  of  what  use  that 
could  be  I  was  at  a  loss  to  understand. 

Kennedy  was  chiefly  interested  in  the  safe.  It 
was  of  the  so-called  "  burglar-proof "  variety, 
spherical  in  shape,  and  looking  for  all  the  world 
like  a  miniature  piece  of  electrical  machinery. 

"  I  doubt  if  anything  could  have  withstood  such 
savage  treatment  as  has  been  given  to  this  safe," 
remarked  Craig  as  he  concluded  a  cursory  examina- 
tion of  it.  "  It  shows  great  resistance  to  high  ex- 
plosives, chiefly,  I  believe,  as  a  result  of  its  rounded 
shape.  But  nothing  could  stand  up  against  such 
continued  assaults." 

He  continued  to  examine  the  safe  while  we  stood 
idly  by.  "  I  like  to  reconstruct  my  cases  in  my 
own  mind,"  explained  Kennedy,  as  he  took  his  time 
in  the  examination.  "  Now,  this  fellow  must  have 
stripped  the  safe  of  all  the  outer  trimmings.  His 
next  move  was  to  make  a  dent  in  the  manganese 
surface  across  the  joint  where  the  door  fits  the 
body.  That  must  have  taken  a  good  many  minutes 
of  husky  work.  In  fact,  I  don't  see  how  he  could 
have  done  it  without  a  sledge-hammer  and  a  hot 
chisel.  Still,  he  did  it  and  then " 

"  But  the  maid,"  interposed  Maloney.  "  She 
was  in  the  house.  She  would  have  heard  and  given 
an  alarm." 

For  answer,  Craig  simply  went  to  a  bay-window 
and  raised  the  curtain.  Pointing  to  the  lights  of 
the  next  house,  far  down  the  road,  he  said,  "  I'll 
buy  the  best  cigars  in  the  state  if  you  can  make 
them  hear  you  on  a  blustery  night  like  last  night. 


THE  YEGGMAN  37 

No,  she  probably  did  scream.  Either  at  this  point, 
or  at  the  very  start,  the  burglar  must  have  chloro- 
formed her.  I  don't  see  any  other  way  to  explain 
it.  I  doubt  if  he  expected  such  a  tough  proposition 
as  he  found  in  this  safe,  but  he  was  evidently  pre- 
pared to  carry  it  through,  now  that  he  was  here 
and  had  such  an  unexpectedly  clear  field,  except 
for  the  maid.  He  simply  got  her  out  of  the  way, 
or  his  confederates  did — in  the  easiest  possible  way, 
poor  girl." 

Returning  to  the  safe,  he  continued:  "  Well,  any- 
how, he  made  a  furrow  perhaps  an  inch  and  a  half 
long  and  a  quarter  of  an  inch  wide  and,  I  should 
say,  not  over  an  eighth  of  an  inch  deep.  Then 
he  commenced  to  burgle  in  earnest.  Under  the 
dent  he  made  a  sort  of  little  cup  of  red  clay  and 
poured  in  the  '  soup  ' — the  nitroglycerin — so  that 
it  would  run  into  the  depression.  Then  he  exploded 
it  in  the  regular  way  with  a  battery  and  a  fulminate 
cap.  I  doubt  if  it  did  much  more  than  discolour 
the  metal  at  first.  Still,  with  the  true  persistency 
of  his  kind,  he  probably  repeated  the  dose,  using 
more  and  more  of  the  '  soup  '  until  the  joint  was 
stretched  a  little,  and  more  of  an  opening  made 
so  that  the  '  soup  '  could  run  in. 

"  Again  and  again  he  must  have  repeated  and 
increased  the  charges.  Perhaps  he  used  two  or 
three  cups  at  a  time.  By  this  time  the  outer  door 
must  have  been  stretched  so  as  to  make  it  easy 
to  introduce  the  explosive.  No  doubt  he  was  able 
to  use  ten  or  twelve  ounces  of  the  stuff  at  a  charge. 
It  must  have  been  more  like  target-practice  than 


38  THE  POISONED  PEN 

safe-blowing.  But  the  chance  doesn't  often  come — 
an  empty  house  and  plenty  of  time.  Finally  the 
door  must  have  bulged  a  fraction  of  an  inch  or 
so,  and  then  a  good  big  charge  and  the  outer  por- 
tion was  ripped  off  and  the  safe  turned  over. 
There  was  still  two  or  three  inches  of  manganese 
steel  protecting  the  contents,  wedged  in  so  tight 
that  it  must  have  seemed  that  nothing  could  budge 
it.  But  he  must  have  kept  at  it  until  we  have  the 
wreck  that  we  see  here,"  and  Kennedy  kicked  the 
safe  with  his  foot  as  he  finished. 

Blake  was  all  attention  by  this  time,  while 
Maloney  gasped,  "  If  I  was  in  the  safe-cracking 
business,  I'd  make  you  the  head  of  the  firm."  . 

"  And  now,"  said  Craig,  "  let  us  go  back  to 
New  York  and  see  if  we  can  find  Mrs.  Branford." 

"  Of  course  you  understand,"  explained  Blake  as 
we  were  speeding  back,  "  that  most  of  these  cases 
of  fake  robberies  are  among  small  people,  many 
of  them  on  the  East  Side  among  little  jewellers  or 
other  tradesmen.  Still,  they  are  not  limited  to  any 
one  class.  Indeed,  it  is  easier  to  foil  the  insurance 
companies  when  you  sit  in  the  midst  of  finery  and 
wealth,  protected  by  a  self-assuring  halo  of  moral 
rectitude,  than  under  less  fortunate  circumstances. 
Too  often,  I'm  afraid,  we  have  good-naturedly  ad- 
mitted the  unsolved  burglary  and  paid  the  insurance 
claim.  That  has  got  to  stop.  Here's  a  case  where 
we  considered  the  moral  hazard  a  safe  one,  and 
we  are  mistaken.  It's  the  last  straw." 

Our  interview  with  Mrs.  Branford  was  about 
as  awkward  an  undertaking  as  I  have  ever  been 


THE  YEGGMAN  39 

concerned  with.  Imagine  yourself  forced  to  ques- 
tion a  perfectly  stunning  woman,  who  was"  sus- 
pected of  plotting  so  daring  a  deed  and  knew  that 
you  suspected  her.  Resentment  was  no  name  for 
her  feelings.  She  scorned  us,  loathed  us.  It  was 
only  by  what  must  have  been  the  utmost  exercise 
of  her  remarkable  will-power  that  she  restrained 
herself  from  calling  the  hotel  porters  and  having 
us  thrown  out  bodily.  That  would  have  put  a  bad 
face  on  it,  so  she  tolerated  our  presence.  Then, 
of  course,  the  insurance  company  had  reserved  the 
right  to  examine  everybody  in  the  household,  under 
oath  if  necessary,  before  passing  on  the  claim. 

"  This  is  an  outrage,"  she  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
flashing  and  her  breast  rising  and  falling  with  sup- 
pressed emotion,  "  an  outrage.  When  my  husband 
returns  I  intend  to  have  him  place  the  whole  matter 
in  the  hands  of  the  best  attorney  in  the  city.  Not 
only  will  I  have  the  full  amount  of  the  insurance, 
but  I  will  have  damages  and  costs  and  everything 
the  law  allows.  Spying  on  my  every  movement  in 
this  way — it  is  an  outrage !  One  would  think  we 
were  in  St.  Petersburg  instead  of  New  York." 

"  One  moment,  Mrs.  Branford,"  put  in  Kennedy, 
as  politely  as  he  could.  "  Suppose " 

"  Suppose  nothing,"  she  cried  angrily.  "  I  shall 
explain  nothing,  say  nothing.  What  if  I  do  choose 
to  close  up  that  lonely  big  house  in  the  suburbs  and 
come  to  the  city  to  live  for  a  few  days — is  it  any- 
body's business  except  mine?" 

"And  your  husband's?  "  added  Kennedy,  nettled 
at  her  treatment  of  him. 


40  THE  POISONED  PEN 

She  shot  him  a  scornful  glance.  "  I  suppose 
Mr.  Branford  went  out  to  Arizona  for  the  express 
purpose  of  collecting  insurance  on  my  jewels,"  she 
added  sarcastically  with  eyes  that  snapped  fire. 

"  I  was  about  to  say,"  remarked  Kennedy  as  im- 
perturbably  as  if  he  were  an  automaton,  "  that  sup- 
posing some  one  took  advantage  of  your  absence 
to  rob  your  safe,  don't  you  think  the  wisest  course 
would  be  to  be  perfectly  frank  about  it?  " 

"  And  give  just  one  plausible  reason  why  you 
wished  so  much  to  have  it  known  that  you  were  go- 
ing to  Palm  Beach  when  in  reality  you  were  in  New 
York?  "  pursued  Maloney,  while  Kennedy  frowned 
at  his  tactless  attempt  at  a  third  degree. 

If  she  had  resented  Kennedy,  she  positively  flew 
up  in  the  air  and  commenced  to  aviate  at  Maloney's 
questioning.  Tossing  her  head,  she  said  icily:  "  I 
do  not  know  that  you  have  been  appointed  my 
guardian,  sir.  Let  us  consider  this  interview  at  an 
end.  Good-night,"  and  with  that  she  swept  out  of 
the  room,  ignoring  Maloney  and  bestowing  one 
biting  glance  on  Blake,  who  actually  winced,  so  little 
relish  did  he  have  for  this  ticklish  part  of  the  pro- 
ceedings. 

I  think  we  all  felt  like  schoolboys  who  had  been 
detected  robbing  a  melon-patch  or  in  some  other 
heinous  offence,  as  we  slowly  filed  down  the  hall 
to  the  elevator.  A  woman  of  Mrs.  Branford's 
stamp  so  readily  and  successfully  puts  one  in  the 
wrong  that  I  could  easily  comprehend  why  Blake 
wanted  to  call  on  Kennedy  for  help  in  what  otherwise 
seemed  a  plain  case. 


THE  YEGGMAN  41 

Blake  and  Maloney  were  some  distance  ahead  of 
us,  as  Craig  leaned  over  to  me  and  whispered  i 
"  That  Maloney  is  impossible.  I'll  have  to  shake 
him  loose  in  some  way.  Either  we  handle  this  case 
alone  or  we  quit." 

"  Right-o,"  I  agreed  emphatically.  "  He's  put 
his  foot  in  it  badly  at  the  very  start.  Only,  be 
decent  about  it,  Craig.  The  case  is  too  big  for 
you  to  let  it  slip  by." 

"  Trust  me,  Walter.  I'll  do  it  tactfully,"  he  whis- 
pered, then  to  Blake  he  added  as  we  overtook  them : 
"  Maloney  is  right.  The  case  is  simple  enough, 
after  all.  But  we  must  find  out  some  way  to  fasten 
the  thing  more  closely  on  Mrs.  Branford.  Let  me 
think  out  a  scheme  to-night.  I'll  see  you  to- 
morrow." 

As  Blake  and  Maloney  disappeared  down  the 
street  in  the  car,  Kennedy  wheeled  about  and  walked 
deliberately  back  into  the  Grattan  Inn  again.  It 
was  quite  late.  People  were  coming  in  from  the 
theatres,  laughing  and  chatting  gaily.  Kennedy 
selected  a  table  that  commanded  a  view  of  the  par- 
lour as  well  as  of  the  dining-room  itself. 

"  She  was  dressed  to  receive  some  one — did  you 
notice?  "  he  remarked  as  we  sat  down  and  cast  our 
eyes  over  the  dizzy  array  of  inedibles  on  the  card 
before  us.  "  I  think  it  is  worth  waiting  a  while 
to  see  who  it  is." 

Having  ordered  what  I  did  not  want,  I  glanced 
about  until  my  eye  rested  on  a  large  pier-glass  at 
the  other  end  of  the  dining-room. 

"  Craig,"  I  whispered  excitedly,  "  Mrs.  B.  is  in 


42  THE  POISONED  PEN 

the  writing-room — I  can  see  her  in  that  glass  at 
the  end  of  the  room,  behind  you." 

"  Get  up  and  change  places  with  me  as  quietly 
as  you  can,  Walter,"  he  said  quickly.  "  I  want  to 
see  her  when  she  can't  see  me." 

Kennedy  was  staring  in  rapt  attention  at  the 
mirror.  "  There's  a  man  with  her,  Walter,"  he 
said  under  his  breath.  "  He  came  in  while  we  were 
changing  places — a  fine-looking  chap.  By  Jove,  I've 
seen  him  before  somewhere.  His  face  and  his  man- 
ner are  familiar  to  me.  But  I  simply  can't  place 
him.  Did  you  see  her  wraps  in  the  chair?  No? 
Well,  he's  helping  her  on  with  them.  .They're  go- 
ing out.  Garqon,  I' addition — vite." 

We  were  too  late,  however,  for  just  as  we  reached 
the  door  we  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  a  huge 
new  limousine. 

"  Who  was  that  man  who  just  went  out  with  the 
lady?"  asked  Craig  of  the  negro  wh'o  turned  the 
revolving-door  at  the  carriage  entrance. 

"  Jack  Delarue,  sah — in  '  The  Grass  Widower,' 
sah,"  replied  the  doorman.  "  Yes,  sah,  he  stays 
here  once  in  a  while.  Thank  you,  sah,"  as  Kennedy 
dropped  a  quarter  into  the  man's  hand. 

'  That  complicates  things  considerably,"  he  mused 
as  we  walked  slowly  down  to  the  subway  station. 
'  Jack  Delarue — I  wonder  if  he  is  mixed  up  in  this 
thing  also." 

"  I've  heard  that  '  The  Grass  Widower '  isn't 
such  a  howling  success  as  a  money-maker,"  I  volun- 
teered. "  Delarue  has  a  host  of  creditors,  no  doubt. 
By  the  way,  Craig,"  I  exclaimed,  "  don't  you  think 


THE  YEGGMAN  43 

it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  drop  down  and  see 
O'Connor?  The  police  will  have  to  be  informed  in 
a  few  hours  now,  anyhow.  Maybe  Delarue  has  a 
criminal  record." 

"  A  good  idea,  Walter,"  agreed  Craig,  turning 
into  a  drug-store  which  had  a  telephone  booth. 
"  I'll  just  call  O'Connor  up,  and  we'll  see  if  he  does 
know  anything  about  it." 

O'Connor  was  not  at  headquarters,  but  we  finally 
found  him  at  his  home,  and  it  was  well  into  the 
small  hours  when  we  arrived  there.  Trusting  to 
the  first  deputy's  honour,  which  had  stood  many  a 
test,  Craig  began  to  unfold  the  story.  He  had 
scarcely  got  as  far  as  describing  the  work  of  the 
suspected  hired  yeggman,  when  O'Connor  raised 
both  hands  and  brought  them  down  hard  on  the  arms 
of  his  chair. 

"Say,"  he  ejaculated,  "that  explains  it!" 

"What?"  we  asked  in  chorus. 

"  Why,  one  of  my  best  stool-pigeons  told  me  to- 
day that  there  was  something  doing  at  a  house  in 
the  Chatham  Square  district  that  we  have  been 
watching  for  a  long  time.  It's  full  of  crooks,  and 
to-day  they've  all  been  as  drunk  as  lords,  a  sure 
sign  some  one  has  made  a  haul  and  been  generous 
with  the  rest.  And  one  or  two  of  the  professional 
'  fences  '  have  been  acting  suspiciously,  too.  Oh, 
that  explains  it  all  right." 

I  looked  at  Craig  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  told  you 
so,"  but  he  was  engrossed  in  what  O'Connor  was 
saying. 

"  You  know,"  continued  the  police  officer,  "  there 


44  THE  POISONED  PEN 

is  one  particular  '  fence  '  who  runs  his  business  under 
the  guise  of  a  loan-shark's  office.  He  probably  has 
a  wider  acquaintance  among  the  big  criminals  than 
any  other  man  in  the  city.  From  him  crooks  can 
obtain  anything  from  a  jimmy  to  a  safe-cracking 
outfit.  I  know  that  this  man  has  been  trying  to 
dispose  of  some  unmounted  pearls  to-day  among 
jewellers  in  Maiden  Lane.  I'll  bet  he  has  been 
disposing  of  some  of  the  Branford  pearls,  one  by 
one.  I'll  follow  that  up.  I'll  arrest  this  '  fence  ' 
and  hold  him  till  he  tells  me  what  yeggman  came 
to  him  with  the  pearls." 

"  And  if  you  find  out,  will  you  go  with  me  to 
that  house  near  Chatham  Square,  providing  it  was 
some  one  in  that  gang?  "  asked  Craig  eagerly. 

O'Connor  shook  his  head.  "  I'd  better  keep  out 
of  it.  They  know  me  too  well.  Go  alone.  I'll 
get  that  stool-pigeon — the  Gay  Cat  is  his  name — 
to  go  with  you.  I'll  help  you  in  any  way.  I'll  have 
any  number  of  plain-clothes  men  you  want  ready  to 
raid  the  place  the  moment  you  get  the  evidence. 
But  you'll  never  get  any  evidence  if  they  know  I'm 
in  the  neighbourhood." 

The  next  morning  Craig  scarcely  ate  any  break- 
fast himself  and  made  me  bolt  my  food  most  un- 
ceremoniously. We  were  out  in  Montclair  again 
before  the  commuters  had  started  to  go  to  New 
York,  and  that  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  we  had 
stopped  at  his  laboratory  on  the  way  and  had  got 
a  package  which  he  carried  carefully. 

Kennedy  instituted  a  most  thorough  search  of  the 
house  from  cellar  to  attic  in  daylight.  What  he 


THE  YEGGMAN  45 

expected  to  find,  I  did  not  know,  but  I  am  quite 
sure  nothing  escaped  him. 

"  Now,  Walter,"  he  said  after  he  had  ransacked 
the  house,  "  there  remains  just  one  place.  Here  is 
this  little  wall  safe  in  Mrs.  Branford's  room.  We 
must  open  it." 

For  an  hour  if  not  longer  he  worked  over  the 
combination,  listening  to  the  fall  of  the  tumblers 
in  the  lock.  It  was  a  simple  little  thing  and  one 
of  the  old-timers  in  the  industry  would  no  doubt 
have  opened  it  in  short  order.  The  perspiration 
stood  out  on  his  forehead,  so  intent  was  he  in  work- 
ing the  thing.  At  last  it  yielded.  Except  for  some 
of  the  family  silver,  the  safe  was  empty. 

Carefully  noting  how  the  light  shone  on  the  wall 
safe,  Craig  unwrapped  the  package  he  had  brought 
and  disclosed  a  camera.  He  placed  it  on  a  writing- 
desk  opposite  the  safe,  in  such  a  way  that  it  was 
not  at  all  conspicuous,  and  focused  it  on  the  safe. 

"  This  is  a  camera  with  a  newly-invented  between- 
lens  shutter  of  great  illumination  and  efficiency,"  he 
explained.  "  It  has  always  been  practically  impos- 
sible to  get  such  pictures,  but  this  new  shutter  has 
so  much  greater  speed  than  anything  ever  invented 
before  that  it  is  possible  to  use  it  in  detective  work. 
I'll  just  run  these  fine  wires  like  a  burglar  alarm, 
only  instead  of  having  an  alarm  I'll  attach  them  to 
the  camera  so  that  we  can  get  a  picture.  I've  proved 
its  speed  up  to  one  two-thousandth  of  a  second.  It 
may  or  it  may  not  work.  If  it  does  we'll  catch  some- 
body, right  in  the  act." 

About  noon  we  went  down  to  Liberty  Street,  home 


46  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  burglary  insurance.  I  don't  think  Blake  liked  it 
very  much  because  Kennedy  insisted  on  playing  the 
lone  hand,  but  he  said  nothing,  for  it  was  part  of 
the  agreement.  Maloney  seemed  rather  glad  than 
otherwise.  He  had  been  combing  out  some  tangled 
clues  of  his  own  about  Mrs.  Branford.  Still,  Ken- 
nedy smoothed  things  over  by  complimenting  the 
detective  on  his  activity,  and  indeed  he  had  shown 
remarkable  ability  in  the  first  place  in  locating 
Mrs.  Branford. 

"  I  started  out  with  the  assumption  that  the  Bran- 
fords  must  have  needed  money  for  some  reason  or 
other,"  said  Maloney.  "  So  I  went  to  the  commer- 
cial agencies  to-day  and  looked  up  Branford.  I 
can't  say  he  has  been  prosperous;  nobody  has  been 
in  Wall  Street  these  days,  and  that's  just  the  thing 
that  causes  an  increase  in  fake  burglaries.  Then 
there  is  another  possibility,"  he  continued  triumph- 
antly. "  I  had  a  man  up  at  the  Grattan  Inn,  and 
he  reports  to  me  that  Mra.  Branford  was  seen  with 
the  actor  Jack  Delarue  last  night.  I  imagine  they 
quarrelled,  for  she  returned  alone,  much  agitated, 
in  a  taxi-cab.  Any  way  you  look  at  it,  the  clues 
are  promising — whether  she  needed  money  for  Bran- 
ford's  speculations  or  for  the  financing  of  that  rake 
Delarue." 

Maloney  regarded  Craig  with  the  air  of  an  expert 
who  could  afford  to  patronise  a  good  amateur — but 
after  all  an  amateur.  Kennedy  said  nothing,  and 
of  course  I  took  the  cue. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Blake,  "  you  see,  our  original 
hypothesis  was  a  pretty  good  one.  Meanwhile,  of 


THE  YEGGMAN  47 

course,  the  police  are  floundering  around  in  a  bog  of 
false  scents." 

"  It  would  make  our  case  a  good  deal  stronger," 
remarked  Kennedy  quietly,  "  if  we  could  discover 
some  of  the  stolen  jewellery  hidden  somewhere  by 
Mrs.  Branford  herself."  He  said  nothing  of  his 
own  unsuccessful  search  through  the  house,  but  con- 
tinued: "What  do  you  suppose  she  has  done  with 
the  jewels?  She  must  have  put  them  somewhere 
before  she  got  the  yeggman  to  break  the  safe. 
She'd  hardly  trust  them  in  his  hands.  But  she  might 
have  been  foolish  enough  for  that.  Of  course  it's 
another  possibility  that  he  really  got  away  with 
them.  I  doubt  if  she  has  them  at  Grattan  Inn,  or 
even  if  she  would  personally  put  them  in  a  safe 
deposit  vault.  Perhaps  Delarue  figures  in  that  end 
of  it.  We  must  let  no  stone  go  unturned." 

"  That's  right,"  meditated  Maloney,  apparently 
turning  something  over  in  his  mind  as  if  it  were  a 
new  idea.  "  If  we  only  had  some  evidence,  even 
part  of  the  jewels  that  she  had  hidden,  it  would 
clinch  the  case.  That's  a  good  idea,  Kennedy." 

Craig  said  nothing,  but  I  could  see,  or  fancied 
I  saw,  that  he  was  gratified  at  the  thought  that  he 
had  started  Maloney  off  on  another  trail,  leaving 
us  to  follow  ours  unhampered.  The  interview  with 
Blake  was  soon  over,  and  as  we  left  I  looked  in- 
quiringly at  Craig. 

"  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Branford  again,"  he  said. 
u  I  think  we  can  do  better  alone  to-day  than  we  did 
last  night." 

I  must  say  I  half  expected  that  she  would  refuse 


48  THE  POISONED  PEN 

to  see  us  and  was  quite  surprised  when  the  page 
returned  with  the  request  that  we  go  up  to  her  suite. 
It  was  evident  that  her  attitude  toward  us  was  very 
different  from  that  of  the  first  interview.  Whether 
she  was  ruffled  by  the  official  presence  of  Blake  or 
the  officious  presence  of  Maloney,  she  was  at  least 
politely  tolerant  of  us.  Or  was  it  that  she  at  last 
began  to  realise  that  the  toils  were  closing  about  her 
and  that  things  began  to  look  unmistakably  black? 

Kennedy  was  quick  to  see  his  advantage.  "  Mrs. 
Branford,"  he  began,  "  since  last  night  I  have  come 
into  the  possession  of  some  facts  that  are  very  im- 
portant. I  have  heard  that  several  loose  pearls 
which  may  or  may  not  be  yours  have  been  offered 
for  sale  by  a  man  on  the  Bowery  who  is  what  the 
yeggmen  call  a  '  fence.'  ' 

"  Yeggmen — 'fence'?"  she  repeated.  "Mr. 
Kennedy,  really  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  pearls 
any  longer.  It  is  immaterial  to  me  what  becomes 
of  them.  My  first  desire  is  to  collect  the  insurance. 
If  anything  is  recovered  I  am  quite  willing  to  deduct 
that  amount  from  the  total.  But  I  must  insist  on 
the  full  insurance  or  the  return  of  the  pearls.  As 
soon  as  Mr.  Branford  arrives  I  shall  take  other 
steps  to  secure  redress." 

A  boy  rapped  at  the  door  and  brought  in  a  tel- 
egram which  she  tore  open  nervously.  "  He  will 
be  here  in  four  days,"  she  said,  tearing  the  telegram 
petulantly,  and  not  at  all  as  if  she  were  glad  to 
receive  it.  "  Is  there  anything  else  that  you  wish 
to  say?" 

She  was  tapping  her  foot  on  the  rug  as  if  anxious 


THE  YEGGMAN  49 

to  conclude  the  interview.  Kennedy  leaned  forward 
earnestly  and  played  his  trump  card  boldly. 

"  Do  you  remember  that  scene  in  '  The  Grass 
Widower,'  "  he  said  slowly,  "  where  Jack  Delarue 
meets  his  runaway  wife  at  the  masquerade  ball?  " 

She  coloured  slightly,  but  instantly  regained  her 
composure.  "  Vaguely,"  she  murmured,  toying  with 
the  flowers  in  her  dress. 

"  In  real  life,"  said  Kennedy,  his  voice  purposely 
betraying  that  he  meant  it  to  have  a  personal  applica- 
tion, "  husbands  do  not  forgive  even  rumours  of — 
ah — shall  we  say  affinities? — much  less  the  fact." 

"  In  real  life,"  she  replied,  "  wives  do  not  have 
affinities  as  often  as  some  newspapers  and  plays 
would  have  us  believe." 

"  I  saw  Delarue  after  the  performance  last  night," 
went  on  Kennedy  inexorably.  "  I  was  not  seen,  but 
I  saw,  and  he  was  with " 

She  was  pacing  the  room  now  in  unsuppressed 
excitement.  "  Will  you  never  stop  spying  on  me?  " 
she  cried.  "  Must  my  every  act  be  watched  and 
misrepresented?  I  suppose  a  distorted  version  of 
the  facts  will  be  given  to  my  husband.  Have  you 
no  chivalry,  or  justice,  or — or  mercy?  "  she  pleaded, 
stopping  in  front  of  Kennedy. 

"  Mrs.  Branford,"  he  replied  coldly,  "  I  cannot 
promise  what  I  shall  do.  My  duty  is  simply  to  get 
at  the  truth  about  the  pearls.  If  it  involves  some 
other  person,  it  is  still  my  duty  to  get  at  the  truth. 
Why  not  tell  me  all  that  you  really  know  about 
the  pearls  and  trust  me  to  bring  it  out  all  right?  " 

She  faced  him,  pale  and  haggard.    "  I  have  told," 


50  THE  POISONED  PEN 

she  repeated  steadily.  "  I  cannot  tell  any  more — 
I  know  nothing  more." 

Was  she  lying?  I  was  not  expert  enough  in 
feminine  psychology  to  judge,  but  down  in  my  heart 
I  knew  that  the  woman  was  hiding  something  behind 
that  forced  steadiness.  What  was  it  she  was  bat- 
tling for?  We  had  reached  an  impasse. 

It  was  after  dinner  when  I  met  Craig  at  the 
laboratory.  He  had  made  a  trip  to  Montclair 
again,  where  his  stay  had  been  protracted  because 
Maloney  was  there  and  he  wished  to  avoid  him. 
He  had  brought  back  the  camera,  and  had  had  an- 
other talk  with  O'Connor,  at  which  he  had  mapped 
out  a  plan  of  battle. 

"  We  are  to  meet  the  Gay  Cat  at  the  City  Hall 
at  nine  o'clock,"  explained  Craig  laconically.  "  We 
are  going  to  visit  a  haunt  of  yeggmen,  Walter,  that 
few  outsiders  have  ever  seen.  Are  you  game? 
O'Connor  and  his  men  will  be  close  by — hiding,  of 
course." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  I  replied  slowly.  "  But  what 
excuse  are  you  going  to  have  for  getting  into  this 
yegg-resort?  " 

"  Simply  that  we  are  two  newspaper  men  looking 
for  an  article,  without  names,  dates,  or  places — just 
a  good  story  of  yeggmen  and  tramps.  I've  got  a 
little — well,  we'll  call  it  a  little  camera  outfit  that 
I'm  going  to  sling  over  my  shoulder.  You  are  the 
reporter,  remember,  and  I'm  the  newspaper  pho- 
tographer. They  won't  pose  for  us,  of  course,  but 
that  will  be  all  right.  Speaking  about  photographs, 
I  got  one  out  at  Montclair  that  is  interesting.  I'll 


THE  YEGGMAN  51 

show  it  to  you  later  in  the  evening — and  in  case 
anything  should  happen  to  me,  Walter,  you'll  find 
the  original  plate  locked  here  in  the  top  drawer  of 
my  desk.  I  guess  we'd  better  be  getting  down- 
town." 

The  house  to  which  we  were  guided  by  the  Gay 
Cat  was  on  a  cross  street  within  a  block  or  two  of 
Chatham  Square.  If  we  had  passed  it  casually  in 
the  daytime  there  would  have  been  nothing  to  dis- 
tinguish it  above  the  other  ramshackle  buildings  on 
the  street,  except  that  the  other  houses  were  clut- 
tered with  children  and  baby-carriages,  while  this 
one  was  vacant,  the  front  door  closed,  and  the  blinds 
tightly  drawn.  As  we  approached,  a  furtive  figure 
shambled  from  the  basement  areaway  and  slunk  off 
into  the  crowd  for  the  night's  business  of  pocket- 
picking  or  second-story  work. 

I  had  had  misgivings  as  to  whether  we  would 
be  admitted  at  all — I  might  almost  say  hopes — but 
the  Gay  Cat  succeeded  in  getting  a  ready  response 
at  the  basement  door.  The  house  itself  was  the 
dilapidated  ruin  of  what  had  once  been  a  fashion- 
able residence  in  the  days' when  society  lived  in  the 
then  suburban  Bowery.  The  iron  handrail  on  the 
steps  was  still  graceful,  though  rusted  and  insecure. 
The  stones  of  the  steps  were  decayed  and  eaten  away 
by  time,  and  the  front  door  was  never  opened. 

As  we  entered  the  low  basement  door,  I  felt  that 
those  who  entered  here  did  indeed  abandon  hope. 
Inside,  the  evidences  of  the  past  grandeur  were  still 
more  striking.  What  had  once  been  a  drawing- 
room  was  now  the  general  assembly  room  of  the 


52  THE  POISONED  PEN 

resort.  Broken-down  chairs  lined  the  walls,  and 
the  floor  was  generously  sprinkled  with  sawdust. 
A  huge  pot-bellied  stove  occupied  the  centre  of  the 
room,  and  by  it  stood  a  box  of  sawdust  plentifully 
discoloured  with  tobacco-juice. 

Three  or  four  of  the  "  guests  " — there  was  no 
"  register  "  in  this  yeggman's  hotel — were  seated 
about  the  stove  discussing  something  in  a  language 
that  was  English,  to  be  sure,  but  of  a  variation 
that  only  a  yegg  could  understand.  I  noted  the 
once  handsome  white  marble  mantel,  now  stained 
by  age,  standing  above  the  unused  grate.  Double 
folding-doors  led  to  what,  I  imagine,  was  once  a 
library.  Dirt  and  grime  indescribable  were  every- 
where. There  was  the  smell  of  old  clothes  and 
old  cooking,  the  race  odours  of  every  nationality 
known  to  the  metropolis.  I  recalled  a  night  I  once 
spent  in  a  Bowery  lodging-house  for  "  local  colour." 
Only  this  was  infinitely  worse.  No  law  regulated 
this  house.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  cheerless- 
ness  that  a  half-blackened  Welsbach  mantle  turned 
into  positive  ghastliness. 

Our  guide  introduced  us.  There  was  a  dead 
silence  as  eight  eyes  were  craftily  fixed  on  us,  sizing 
us  up.  What  should  I  say?  Craig  came  to  the 
rescue.  To  him  the  adventure  was  a  lark.  It  was 
novel,  and  that  was  merit  enough. 

"  Ask  about  the  slang,"  he  suggested.  "  That 
makes  a  picturesque  story." 

It  seemed  to  me  innocuous  enough,  so  I  engaged 
in  conversation  with  a  man  whom  the  Gay  Cat  had 
introduced  as  the  proprietor.  Much  of  the  slang 


THE  YEGGMAN  53 

I  already  knew  by  hearsay,  such  as  "  bulls  "  for 
policemen,  a  "  mouthpiece  "  for  a  lawyer  to  defend 
one  when  he  is  "  ditched  "  or  arrested;  in  fact,  as  I 
busily  scribbled  away  I  must  have  collected  a  lexicon 
of  a  hundred  words  or  so  for  future  reference. 

"And  names?"  I  queried.  "You  have  some 
queer  nicknames." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  replied  the  man.  "  Now  here's  the 
Gay  Cat — that's  what  we  call  a  fellow  who  is  the 
finder,  who  enters  a  town  ahead  of  the  gang.  Then 
there's  Chi  Fat — that  means  he's  from  Chicago 
and  fat.  And  Pitts  Slim — he's  from  Pittsburgh 
and " 

"  Aw,  cut  it,"  broke  in  one  of  the  others.  "  Pitts 
Slim'll  be  here  to-night.  He'll  give  you  the  devil 
if  he  hears  you  talking  to  reporters  about  him." 

The  proprietor  began  to  talk  of  less  dangerous 
subjects.  Craig  succeeded  in  drawing  out  from  him 
the  yegg  recipe  for  making  "  soup."  "  It's  here  in 
this  cipher,"  said  the  man,  drawing  out  a  dirty  piece 
of  paper.  "  It's  well  known,  and  you  can  have  this. 
Here's  the  key.  It  was  written  by  '  Deafy '  Smith, 
and  the  police  pinched  it." 

Craig  busily  translated  the  curious  document: 

Take  ten  or  a  dozen  sticks  of  dynamite,  crumble  it  up  line, 
and  put  it  in  a  pan  or  washbowl,  then  pour  over  it  enough 
alcohol,  wood  or  pure,  to  cover  it  well.  Stir  it  up  well  wi'th 
your  hands,  being  careful  to  break  all  the  lumps.  Leave  it 
set  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  get  a  few  yards  of  cheesecloth 
and  tear  it  up  in  pieces  and  strain  the  mixture  through  the 
cloth  into  another  vessel.  Wring  the  sawdust  dry  and  throw 
it  away.  The  remains  will  be  the  soup  and  alcohol  mixed. 


54  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Next  take  the  same  amount  of  water  as  you  used  of  alcohol 
and  pour  it  in.    Leave  the  whole  set  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  Very  interesting,"  commented  Craig.  "  Safe- 
blowing  in  one  lesson  by  correspondence  school. 
The  rest  of  this  tells  how  to  attack  various  makes, 
doesn't  it?  " 

Just  then  a  thin  man  in  a  huge,  worn  ulster  came 
stamping  upstairs  from  the  basement,  his  collar  up 
and  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes.  There  was  some- 
thing indefinably  familiar  about  him,  but  as  his  face 
and  figure  were  so  well  concealed,  I  could  not  tell 
just  why  I  thought  so. 

Catching  a  glimpse  of  us,  he  beat  a  retreat  across 
the  opposite  end  of  the  room,  beckoning  to  the  pro- 
prietor, who  joined  him  outside  the  door.  I  thought 
I  heard  him  ask:  "  Who  are  those  men?  Who  let 
them  in  ?  "  but  I  could  not  catch  the  reply. 

One  by  one  the  other  occupants  of  the  room  rose 
and  sidled  out,  leaving  us  alone  with  the  Gay  Cat. 
Kennedy  reached  over  to  get  a  cigarette  from  my 
case  and  light  it  from  one  that  I  was  smoking. 

"  That's  our  man,  I  think,"  he  whispered — "  Pitts 
Slim." 

I  said  nothing,  but  I  would  have  been  willing  to 
part  with  a  large  section  of  my  bank-account  to  be 
up  on  the  Chatham  Square  station  of  the  Elevated 
just  then. 

There  was  a  rush  from  the  half-open  door  behind 
us.  Suddenly  everything  turned  black  before  me; 
my  eyes  swam;  I  felt  a  stinging  sensation  on  my 
head  and  a  weak  feeling  about  the  stomach;  I  sank 
half-conscious  to  the  floor.  All  was  blank,  but, 


THE  YEGGMAN  55 

dimly,  I  seemed  to  be  dragged  and  dropped  down 
hard. 

How  long  I  lay  there  I  don't  know.  Kennedy 
says  it  was  not  over  five  minutes.  It  may  have  been 
so,  but  to  me  it  seemed  an  age.  When  I  opened 
my  eyes  I  was  lying  on  my  back  on  a  very  dirty 
sofa  in  another  room.  Kennedy  was  bending  over 
me  with  blood  streaming  from  a  long  deep  gash 
on  his  head.  Another  figure  was  groaning  in  the 
semi-darkness  opposite ;  it  was  the  Gay  Cat. 

"  They  blackjacked  us,"  whispered  Kennedy  to 
me  as  I  staggered  to  my  feet.  "  Then  they  dragged 
us  through  a  secret  passage  into  another  house. 
How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  I  answered,  bracing  myself  against 
a  chair,  for  I  was  weak  from  the  loss  of  blood,  and 
dizzy.  I  was  sore  in  every  joint  and  muscle.  I 
looked  about,  only  half  comprehending.  Then  my 
recollection  flooded  back  with  a  rush.  We  had  been 
locked  in  another  room  after  the  attack,  and  left 
to  be  dealt  with  later.  I  felt  in  my  pocket.  I  had 
left  my  watch  at  the  laboratory,  but  even  the  dollar 
watch  I  had  taken  and  the  small  sum  of  money  in 
my  pocketbook  were  gone. 

Kennedy  still  had  his  camera  slung  over  his  shoul- 
der, where  he  had  fastened  it  securely. 

Here  we  were,  imprisoned,  while  Pitts  Slim,  the 
man  we  had  come  after,  whoever  he  was,  was  mak- 
ing his  escape.  Somewhere  across  the  street  was 
O'Connor,  waiting  in  a  room  as  we  had  agreed. 
There  was  only  one  window  in  our  room,  and  it 
opened  on  a  miserable  little  dumbwaiter  air-shaft. 


56  THE  POISONED  PEN 

It  would  be  hours  yet  before  his  suspicions  would 
be  aroused  and  he  would  discover  which  of  the 
houses  we  were  held  in.  Meanwhile  what  might 
not  happen  to  us? 

Kennedy  calmly  set  up  his  tripod.  One  leg  had 
been  broken  in  the  rough-house,  but  he  tied  it  to- 
gether with  his  handkerchief,  now  wet  with  blood. 
I  wondered  how  he  could  think  of  taking  a  picture. 
His  very  deliberation  set  me  fretting  and  fuming, 
and  I  swore  at  him  under  my  breath.  Still,  he 
worked  calmly  ahead.  I  saw  him  take  the  black 
box  and  set  it  on  the  tripod.  It  was  indistinct  in 
the  darkness.  It  looked  like  a  camera,  and  yet  it 
had  some  attachment  at  the  side  that  was  queer, 
including  a  little  lamp.  Craig  bent  and  attached 
some  wires  about  the  box. 

At  last  he  seemed  ready.  "  Walter,"  he  whis- 
pered, "  roll  that  sofa  quietly  over  against  the  door. 
There,  now  the  table  and  that  bureau,  and  wedge 
the  chairs  in.  Keep  that  door  shut  at  any  cost. 
It's  now  or  never — here  goes." 

He  stopped  a  moment  and  tinkered  with  the  box 
on  the  tripod.  "Hello!  Hello!  Hello!  Is  that 
you,  O'Connor?  "  he  shouted. 

I  watched  him  in  amazement.  Was  the  man 
crazy?  Had  the  blow  affected  his  brain?  Here  he 
was,  trying  to  talk  into  a  camera.  A  little  signalling- 
bell  in  the  box  commenced  to  ring,  as  if  by  spirit 
hands. 

"  Shut  up  in  that  room,"  growled  a  voice  from 
outside  the  door.  "  By  God,  they've  barricaded  the 
door.  Come  on,  pals,  we'll  kill  the  spies." 


THE  YEGGMAN  57 

A  smile  of  triumph  lighted  up  Kennedy's  pale 
face.  "  It  works,  it  works,"  he  cried  as  the  little 
bell  continued  to  buzz.  "  This  is  a  wireless  tele- 
phone you  perhaps  have  seen  announced  recently — 
good  for  several  hundred  feet — through  walls  and 
everything.  The  inventor  placed  it  in  a  box  easily 
carried  by  a  man,  including  a  battery,  and  mounted 
on  an  ordinary  camera  tripod  so  that  the  user  might 
well  be  taken  for  a  travelling  photographer.  It  is 
good  in  one  direction  only,  but  I  have  a  signalling- 
bell  here  that  can  be  rung  from  the  other  end  by 
Hertzian  waves.  Thank  Heaven,  it's  compact  and 
simple. 

"  O'Connor,"  he  went  on,  "  it  is  as  I  told  you. 
It  was  Pitts  Slim.  He  left  here  ten  or  fifteen  min- 
utes ago — I  don't  know  by  what  exit,  but  I  heard 
them  say  they  would  meet  at  the  Central  freight- 
yards  at  midnight.  Start  your  plain-clothes  men 
out  and  send  some  one  here,  quick,  to  release  us. 
We  are  locked  in  a  room  in  the  fourth  or  fifth 
house  from  the  corner.  There's  a  secret  passage 
to  the  yegg-house.  The  Gay  Cat  is  still  unconscious, 
Jameson  is  groggy,  and  I  have  a  bad  scalp  wound. 
They  are  trying  to  beat  in  our  barricade.  Hurry." 

I  think  I  shall  never  get  straight  in  my  mind  the 
fearful  five  minutes  that  followed,  the  battering  at 
the  door,  the  oaths,  the  scuffle  outside,  the  crash  as 
the  sofa,  bureau,  table,  and  chairs  all  yielded  at 
once — and  my  relief  when  I  saw  the  square-set, 
honest  face  of  O'Connor  and  half  a  dozen  plain- 
clothes  men  holding  the  yeggs  who  would  certainly 
have  murdered  us  this  time  to  protect  their  pal  in 


58  THE  POISONED  PEN 

his  getaway.  The  fact  is  I  didn't  think  straight 
until  we  were  halfway  uptown,  speeding  toward  the 
railroad  freight-yards  in  O'Connor's  car.  The 
fresh  air  at  last  revived  me,  and  I  began  to  forget 
my  cuts  and  bruises  in  the  renewed  excitement. 

We  entered  the  yards  carefully,  accompanied  by 
several  of  the  railroad's  detectives,  who  met  us  with 
a  couple  of  police  dogs.  Skulking  in  the  shadow 
under  the  high  embankment  that  separated  the  yards 
with  their  interminable  lines  of  full  and  empty  cars 
on  one  side  and  the  San  Juan  Hill  district  of  New 
York  up  on  the  bluff  on  the  other  side,  we  came 
upon  a  party  of  three  men  who  were  waiting  to  catch 
the  midnight  "  side-door  Pullman  " — the  fast  freight 
out  of  New  York. 

The  fight  was  brief,  for  we  outnumbered  them 
more  than  three  to  one.  O'Connor  himself  snapped 
a  pair  of  steel  bracelets  on  the  thin  man,  who  seemed 
to  be  leader  of  the  party. 

"  It's  all  up,  Pitts  Slim,"  he  ground  out  from  his 
set  teeth. 

One  of  our  men  flashed  his  bull's-eye  on  the  three 
prisoners.  I  caught  myself  as  in  a  dream. 

Pitts  Slim  was  Maloney,  the  detective. 

An  hour  later,  at  headquarters,  after  the  pedigrees 
had  been  taken,  the  "  mugging  "  done,  and  the  jewels 
found  on  the  three  yeggs  checked  off  from  the  list 
of  the  Branford  pearls,  leaving  a  few  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  unaccounted  for,  O'Connor  led  the  way 
into  his  private  office.  There  were  Mrs.  Branford 
and  Blake,  waiting. 

Maloney  sullenly  refused  to  look  at  his  former 


THE  YEGGMAN  59 

employer,  as  Blake  rushed  over  and  grasped  Ken- 
nedy's hand,  asking  eagerly:  "  How  did  you  do  it, 
Kennedy?  This  is  the  last  thing  I  expected." 

Craig  said  nothing,  but  slowly  opened  a  now 
crumpled  envelope,  which  contained  an  untoned  print 
of  a  photograph.  He  laid  it  on  the  desk.  "  There 
is  your  yeggman — at  work,"  he  said. 

We  bent  over  to  look.'  It  was  a  photograph  of 
Maloney  in  the  act  of  putting  something  in  the  little 
wall  safe  in  Mrs.  Branford's  room.  In  a  flash  it 
dawned  on  me — the  quick-shutter  camera,  the  wire 
connected  with  the  wall  safe,  Craig's  hint  to  Maloney 
that  if  some  of  the  jewels  were  found  hidden  in  a 
likely  place  in  the  house,  it  would  furnish  the  last 
link  in  the  chain  against  her,  Maloney's  eager  accept- 
ance of  the  suggestion,  and  his  visit  to  Montclair 
during  which  Craig  had  had  hard  work  to  avoid 
him. 

"  Pitts  Slim,  alias  Maloney,"  added  Kennedy, 
turning  to  Blake,  "  your  shrewdest  private  detective, 
was  posing  in  two  characters  at  once  very  success- 
fully. He  was  your  trusted  agent  in  possession  of 
the  most  valuable  secrets  of  your  clients,  at  the  same 
time  engineering  all  the  robberies  that  you  thought 
were  fakes,  and  then  working  up  the  evidence  in- 
criminating the  victims  themselves.  He  got  into 
the  Branford  house  with  a  skeleton  key,  and  killed 
the  maid.  The  picture  shows  him  putting  this 
shield-shaped  brooch  in  the  safe  this  afternoon — 
here's  the  brooch.  And  all  this  time  he  was  the 
leader  of  the  most  dangerous  band  of  yeggmen  in 
the  country." 


60  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Mrs.  Branford,"  exclaimed  Blake,  advancing 
and  bowing  most  profoundly,  "  I  trust  that  you 
understand  my  awkward  position?  My  apologies 
cannot  be  too  humble.  It  will  give  me  great  pleas- 
ure to  hand  you  a  certified  check  for  the  missing 
gems  the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

Mrs.  Branford  bit  her  lip  nervously.  The  return 
of  the  pearls  did  not  seem  to  interest  her  in  the  least. 

"  And  I,  too,  must  apologise  for  the  false  sus- 
picion I  had  of  you  and — and — depend  on  me,  it  is 
already  forgotten,"  said  Kennedy,  emphasising  the 
"  false  "  and  looking  her  straight  in  the  eyes. 

She  read  his  meaning  and  a  look  of  relief  crossed 
her  face.  "  Thank  you,"  she  murmured  simply, 
then  dropping  her  eyes  she  added  in  a  lower  tone 
which  no  one  heard  except  Craig:  "  Mr.  Kennedy, 
how  can  I  ever  thank  you?  Another  night,  and  it 
would  have  been  too  late  to  save  me  from  myself." 


Ill 

THE  GERM  OF  DEATH 

BY  this  time  I  was  becoming  used  to  Kennedy's 
strange  visitors  and,  in  fact,  had  begun  to  enjoy 
keenly  the  uncertainty  of  not  knowing  just  what  to 
expect  from  them  next.  Still,  I  was  hardly  pre- 
pared one  evening  to  see  a  tall,  nervous  foreigner 
stalk  noiselessly  and  unannounced  into  our  apart- 
ment and  hand  his  card  to  Kennedy  without  saying 
a  word. 

"  Dr.  Nicholas  Kharkoff — hum — er,  Jameson,  you 
must  have  forgotten  to  latch  the  door.  Well,  Dr. 
Kharkoff,  what  can  I  do  for  you?  It  is  evident 
something  has  upset  you." 

The  tall  Russian  put  his  forefinger  to  his  lips  and, 
taking  one  of  our  good  chairs,  placed  it  by  the 
door.  Then  he  stood  on  it  and  peered  cautiously 
through  the  transom  into  the  hallway.  "  I  think  I 
eluded  him  this  time,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  nervously 
took  a  seat.  "  Professor  Kennedy,  I  am  being  fol- 
lowed. Every  step  that  I  take  somebody  shadows 
me,  from  the  moment  I  leave  my  office  until  I  return. 
It  is  enough  to  drive  me  mad.  But  that  is  only  one 
reason  why  I  have  come  here  to-night.  I  believe 
that  I  can  trust  you  as  a  friend  of  justice — a  friend 
of  Russian  freedom?  " 

He  had  included  me  in  his  earnest  but  somewhat 
vague  query,  so  that  I  did  not  withdraw.  Somehow, 

61 


62  THE  POISONED  PEN 

apparently,  he  had  heard  of  Kennedy's  rather  liberal 
political  views. 

"  It  is  about  Vassili  Saratovsky,  the  father  of  the 
Russian  revolution,  as  we  call  him,  that  I  have  come 
to  consult  you,"  he  continued  quickly.  "  Just  two 
weeks  ago  he  was  taken  ill.  It  came  on  suddenly, 
a  violent  fever  which  continued  for  a  week.  Then 
he  seemed  to  grow  better,  after  the  crisis  had  passed, 
and  even  attended  a  meeting  of  our  central  com- 
mittee the  other  night.  But  in  the  meantime  Olga 
Samarova,  the  little  Russian  dancer,  whom  you  have 
perhaps  seen,  fell  ill  in  the  same  way.  Samarova 
is  an  ardent  revolutionist,  you  know.  This  morn- 
ing the  servant  at  my  own  home  on  East  Broadway 
was  also  stricken,  and — who  knows  ? — perhaps  it  will 
be  my  turn  next.  For  to-night  Saratovsky  had  an 
even  more  violent  return  of  the  fever,  with  intense 
shivering,  excruciating  pains  in  the  limbs,  and  de- 
lirious headache.  It  is  not  like  anything  I  ever 
saw  before.  Can  you  look  into  the  case  before  it 
grows  any  worse,  Professor?  " 

Again  the  Russian  got  on  the  chair  and  looked 
over  the  transom  to  be  sure  that  he  was  not  being 
overheard. 

"  I  shall  be  only  too  glad  to  help  you  in  any  way 
I  can,"  returned  Kennedy,  his  manner  expressing  the 
genuine  interest  that  he  never  feigned  over  a  par- 
ticularly knotty  problem  in  science  and  crime.  "  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Saratovsky  once  in  Lon- 
don. I  shall  try  to  see  him  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning." 

Dr.   KharkofFs   face   fell.     "  I   had  hoped  you 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  63 

would  see  him  to-night.  If  anything  should  hap- 
pen  ' 

"  Is  it  as  urgent  as  that?  " 

"  I  believe  it  is,"  whispered  Kharkoff,  leaning 
forward  earnestly.  ''  We  can  call  a  taxicab — it  will 
not  take  long,  sir.  Consider,  there  are  many  lives 
possibly  at  stake,"  he  pleaded. 

'  Very  well,  I  will  go,"  consented  Kennedy. 

At  the  street  door  Kharkoff  stopped  short  and 
drew  Kennedy  back.  "  Look — across  the  street  in 
the  shadow.  There  is  the  man.  If  I  start  toward 
him  he  will  disappear;  he  is  very  clever.  He  fol- 
lowed me  from  Saratovsky's  here,  and  has  been  wait- 
ing for  me  to  come  out." 

"  There  are  two  taxicabs  waiting  at  the  stand," 
suggested  Kennedy.  "  Doctor,  you  jump  in  the 
first,  and  Jameson  and  I  will  take  the  second.  Then 
he  can't  follow  us." 

It  was  done  in  a  moment,  and  we  were  whisked 
away,  to  the  chagrin  of  the  figure,  which  glided 
impotently  out  of  the  shadow  in  vain  pursuit,  too 
late  even  to  catch  the  number  of  the  cab. 

"  A  promising  adventure,"  commented  Kennedy, 
as  we  bumped  along  over  New  York's  uneven 
asphalt.  "  Have  you  ever  met  Saratovsky?  " 

"  No,"  I  replied  dubiously.  "  Will  you  guarantee 
that  he  will  not  blow  us  up  with  a  bomb?  " 

".Grandmother!  "  replied  Craig.  "Why,  Wal- 
ter, he  is  the  most  gentle,  engaging  old  philoso- 
pher  " 

"  That  ever  cut  a  throat  or  scuttled  a  ship?  "  I 
interrupted. 


64  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  On  the  contrary,"  insisted  Kennedy,  somewhat 
nettled,  "  he  is  a  patriarch,  respected  by  every  faction 
of  the  revolutionists,  from  the  fighting  organisation 
to  the  believers  in  non-resistance  and  Tolstoy.  I 
tell  you,  Walter,  the  nation  that  can  produce  a  man 
such  as  Saratovsky  deserves  and  some  day  will  win 
political  freedom.  I  have  heard  of  this  Dr.  Khar- 
koff  before,  too.  His  life  would  be  a  short  one 
if  he  were  in  Russia.  A  remarkable  man,  who  fled 
after  those  unfortunate  uprisings  in  1905.  Ah,  we 
are  on  Fifth  Avenue.  I  suspect  that  he  is  taking 
us  to  a  club  on  the  lower  part  of  the  avenue,  where 
a  number  of  the  Russian  reformers  live,  patiently 
waiting  and  planning  for  the  great  '  awakening '  in 
their  native  land." 

Kharkoff's  cab  had  stopped.  Our  quest  had  in- 
deed brought  us  almost  to  Washington  Square. 
Here  we  entered  an  old  house  of  the  past  genera- 
tion. As  we  passed  through  the  wide  hall,  I  noted 
the  high  ceilings,  the  old-fashioned  marble  mantels 
stained  by  time,  the  long,  narrow  rooms  and  dirty- 
white  woodwork,  and  the  threadbare  furniture  of 
black  walnut  and  horsehair. 

Upstairs  in  a  small  back  room  we  found  the  ven- 
erable Saratovsky,  tossing,  half-delirious  with  the 
fever,  on  a  disordered  bed.  His  was  a  striking 
figure  in  this  sordid  setting,  with  a  high  intellectual 
forehead  and  deep-set,  glowing  coals  of  eyes  which 
gave  a  hint  at  the  things  which  had  made  his  life 
one  of  the  strangest  among  all  the  revolutionists 
of  Russia  and  the  works  he  had  done  among  the 
most  daring.  The  brown  dye  was  scarcely  yet  out 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  65; 

of  his  flowing  white  beard — a  relic  of  his  last  trip 
back  to  his  fatherland,  where  he  had  eluded  the 
secret  police  in  the  disguise  of  a  German  gymnasium 
professor. 

Saratovsky  extended  a  thin,  hot,  emaciated  hand 
to  us,  and  we  remained  standing.  Kennedy  said 
nothing  for  the  moment.  The  sick  man  motioned 
feebly  to  us  to  come  closer. 

"  Professor  Kennedy,"  he  whispered,  "  there  is 
some  deviltry  afoot.  The  Russian  autocracy  would 
stop  at  nothing.  Kharkoff  has  probably  told  you 
of  it.  I  am  so  weak " 

He  groaned  and  sank  back,  overcome  by  a  chill 
that  seemed  to  rack  his  poor  gaunt  form. 

"  Kazanovitch  can  tell  Professor  Kennedy  some- 
thing, Doctor.  I  am  too  weak  to  talk,  even  at  this 
critical  time.  Take  him  to  see  Boris  and  Ekate- 
rina." 

Almost  reverently  we  withdrew,  and  Kharkoff  led 
us  down  the  hall  to  another  room.  The  door  was 
ajar,  and  a  light  disclosed  a  man  in  a  Russian  peas- 
ant's blouse,  bending  laboriously  over  a  writing-desk. 
So  absorbed  was  he  that  not  until  Kharkoff  spoke 
did  he  look  up.  His  figure  was  somewhat  slight 
and  his  face  pointed  and  of  an  ascetic  mould. 

"Ah!  "  he  exclaimed.  "  You  have  recalled  me 
from  a  dream.  I  fancied  I  was  on  the  old  mir 
with  Ivan,  one  of  my  characters.  Welcome,  com- 
rades." 

It  flashed  over  me  at  once  that  this  was  the  famous 
Russian  novelist,  Boris  Kazanovitch.  I  had  not  at 
first  connected  the  name  with  that  of  the  author  of 


66  THE  POISONED  PEN 

those  gloomy  tales  of  peasant  life.  Kazanovitch 
stood  with  his  hands  tucked  under  his  blouse. 

"  Night  is  my  favourite  time  for  writing,"  he  ex- 
plained. "  It  is  then  that  the  imagination  works  at 
its  best." 

I  gazed  curiously  about  the  room.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  marked  touch  of  a  woman's  hand  here  and 
there;  it  was  unmistakable.  At  last  my  eye  rested 
on  a  careless  heap  of  dainty  wearing  apparel  on  a 
chair  in  the  corner. 

"  Where  is  Nevsky?  "  asked  Dr.  Kharkoff,  appar- 
ently missing  the  person  who  owned  the  garments. 

"  Ekaterina  has  gone  to  a  rehearsal  of  the  little 
play  of  Gershuni's  escape  from  Siberia  and  betrayal 
by  Rosenberg.  She  will  stay  with  friends  on  East 
Broadway  to-night.  She  has  deserted  me,  and  here 
I  am  all  alone,  finishing  a  story  for  one  of  the 
American  magazines." 

"  Ah,  Professor  Kennedy,  that  is  unfortunate," 
commented  Kharkoff.  "  A  brilliant  woman  is 
Mademoiselle  Nevsky — devoted  to  the  cause.  I 
know  only  one  who  equals  her,  and  that  is  my  pa- 
tient downstairs,  the  little  dancer,  Samarova." 

"  Samarova  is  faithful — Nevsky  is  a  genius,"  put 
in  Kazanovitch.  Kharkoff  said  nothing  for  a  time, 
though  it  was  easy  to  see  he  regarded  the  actress 
highly. 

"  Samarova,"  he  said  at  length  to  us,  "  was 
arrested  for  her  part  in  the  assassination  of  Grand 
Duke  Sergius  and  thrown  into  solitary  confinement 
in  the  fortress  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul.  They  tor- 
tured her,  the  beasts — burned  her  body  with  their 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  67 

cigarettes.  It  was  unspeakable.  But  she  would  not 
confess,  and  finally  they  had  to  let  her  go.  Nevsky, 
who  was  a  student  of  biology  at  the  University  of 
St.  Petersburg  when  Von  Plehve  was  assassinated, 
was  arrested,  but  her  relatives  had  sufficient  influence 
to  secure  her  release.  They  met  in  Paris,  and 
Nevsky  persuaded  Olga  to  go  on  the  stage  and 
come  to  New  York." 

"  Next  to  Ekaterina's  devotion  to  the  cause  is  her 
devotion  to  science,"  said  Kazanovitch,  opening  a 
door  to  a  little  room.  Then  he  added:  "If  she 
were  not  a  woman,  or  if  your  universities  were  less 
prejudiced,  she  would  be  welcome  anywhere  as  a 
professor.  See,  here  is  her  laboratory.  It  is  the 
best  we — she  can  afford.  Organic  chemistry,  as  you 
call  it  in  English,  interests  me  too,  but  of  course 
I  am  not  a  trained  scientist — I  am  a  novelist." 

The  laboratory  was  simple,  almost  bare.  Pho- 
tographs of  Koch,  Ehrlich,  Metchnikoff,  and  a 
number  of  other  scientists  adorned  the  walls.  The 
deeply  stained  deal  table  was  littered  with  beakers 
and  test-tubes. 

"  How  is  Saratovsky?  "  asked  the  writer  of  the 
doctor,  aside,  as  we  gazed  curiously  about. 

Kharkoff  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  We  have 
just  come  from  his  room.  He  was  too  weak  to 
talk,  but  he  asked  that  you  tell  Mr.  Kennedy  any- 
thing that  it  is  necessary  he  should  know  about  our 
suspicions." 

"  It  is  that  we  are  living  with  the  sword  of  Damo- 
cles constantly  dangling  over  our  heads,  gentlemen," 
cried  Kazanovitch  passionately,  turning  toward  us. 


68  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  get  some  cigarettes  down- 
stairs? Over  them  I  will  tell  you  what  we  fear." 

A  call  from  Saratovsky  took  the  doctor  away  also 
at  the  same  moment,  and  we  were  left  alone. 

"  A  queer  situation,  Craig,"  I  remarked,  glanc- 
ing involuntarily  at  the  heap  of  feminine  finery  on 
the  chair,  as  I  sat  down  before  Kazanovitch's  desk. 

"  Queer  for  New  York;  not  for  St.  Petersburg," 
was  his  laconic  reply,  as  he  looked  around  for  an- 
other chair.  Everything  was  littered  with  books 
and  papers,  and  at  last  he  leaned  over  and  lifted 
the  dress  from  the  chair  to  place  it  on  the  bed,  as 
the  easiest  way  of  securing  a  seat  in  the  scantily 
furnished  room. 

A  pocketbook  and  a  letter  fell  to  the  floor  from 
the  folds  of  the  dress.  He  stooped  to  pick  them 
up,  and  I  saw  a  strange  look  of  surprise  on  his  face. 
Without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  shoved  the  letter 
into  his  pocket  and  replaced  the  other  things  as  he 
had  found  them. 

A  moment  later  Kazanovitch  returned  with  a 
large  box  of  Russian  cigarettes.  "  Be  seated,  sir," 
he  said  to  Kennedy,  sweeping  a  mass  of  books  and 
papers  off  a  large  divan.  "  When  Nevsky  is  not 
here  the  room  gets  sadly  disarranged.  I  have  no 
genius  for  order." 

Amid  the  clouds  of  fragrant  light  smoke  we 
waited  for  Kazanovitch  to  break  the  silence. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  that  the  iron  hand  of  the 
Russian  prime  minister  has  broken  the  backbone 
of  revolution  in  Russia,"  he  began  at  length.  "  But 
because  the  Duma  is  subservient,  it  does  not  mean 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  69 

that  all  is  over.  Not  at  all.  We  are  not  asleep. 
Revolution  is  smouldering,  ready  to  break  forth  at 
any  moment.  The  agents  of  the  government  know 
it.  They  are  desperate.  There  is  no  means  they 
would  not  use  to  crush  us.  Their  long  arm  reaches 
even  to  New  York,  in  this  land  of  freedom." 

He  rose  and  excitedly  paced  the  room.  Some- 
how or  other,  this  man  did  not  prepossess  me.  Was 
it  that  I  was  prejudiced  by  a  puritanical  disapproval 
of  the  things  that  pass  current  in  Old  World  moral- 
ity? Or  was  it  merely  that  I  found  the  great  writer 
of  fiction  seeking  the  dramatic  effect  always  at  the 
cost  of  sincerity? 

"  Just  what  is  it  that  you  suspect?  "  asked  Craig, 
anxious  to  dispense  with  the  rhetoric  and  to  get  down 
to  facts.  "  Surely,  when  three  persons  are  stricken, 
you  must  suspect  something." 

"  Poison,"  replied  Kazanovitch  quickly.  "  Poison, 
and  of  a  kind  that  even  the  poison  doctors  of  St. 
Petersburg  have  never  employed.  Dr.  Kharkoff  is 
completely  baffled.  Your  American  doctors — two 
were  called  in  to  see  Saratovsky — say  it  is  the  typhus 
fever.  But  Kharkoff  knows  better.  There  is  no 
typhus  rash.  Besides  " — and  he  leaned  forward  to 
emphasise  his  words — "  one  does  not  get  over  typhus 
in  a  week  and  have  it  again  as  Saratovsky  has." 

I  could  see  that  Kennedy  was  growing  impatient. 
An  idea  had  occurred  to  him,  and  only  politeness 
kept  him  listening  to  Kazanovitch  longer. 

"  Doctor,"  he  said,  as  Kharkoff  entered  the  room 
again,  "  do  you  suppose  you  could  get  some  perfectly 
clean  test-tubes  and  sterile  bouillon  from  Miss 


70  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Nevsky's  laboratory?  I  think  I  saw  a  rack  of  tubes 
on  the  table." 

"  Surely,"  answered  Kharkoff. 

"  You  will  excuse  us,  Mr.  Kazanovitch,"  apolo- 
gised Kennedy  briskly,  "  but  I  feel  that  I  am  going 
to  have  a  hard  day  to-morrow  and — by  the  way, 
would  you  be  so  kind  as  to  come  up  to  my  laboratory 
some  time  during  the  day,  and  continue  your  story." 

On  the  way  out  Craig  took  the  doctor  aside  for 
a  moment,  and  they  talked  earnestly.  At  last  Craig 
motioned  to  me. 

"  Walter,"  he  explained,  "  Dr.  Kharkoff  is  going 
to  prepare  some  cultures  in  the  test-tubes  to-night 
so  that  I  can  make  a  microscopic  examination  of 
the  blood  of  Saratovsky,  Samarova,  and  later  of  his 
servant.  The  tubes  will  be  ready  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  I  have  arranged  with  the  doctor  for  you 
to  call  and  get  them  if  you  have  no  objection." 

I  assented,  and  we  started  downstairs.  As  we 
passed  a  door  on  the  second  floor,  a  woman's  voice 
called  out,  "  Is  that  you,  Boris?  " 

"  No,  Olga,  this  is  Nicholas,"  replied  the  doctor. 
"  It  is  Samarova,"  he  said  to  us  as  he  entered. 

In  a  few  moments  he  rejoined  us.  "  She  is  no 
better,"  he  continued,  as  we  again  started  away. 
"  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Professor  Kennedy,  just 
how  matters  stand  here.  Samarova  is  head  over 
heels  in  love  with  Kazanovitch — you  heard  her  call 
for  him  just  now?  Before  they  left  Paris,  Kazano- 
vitch showed  some  partiality  for  Olga,  but  now 
Nevsky  has  captured  him.  She  is  indeed  a  fascinat- 
ing woman,  but  as  for  me,  if  Olga  would  consent 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  71 

to  become  Madame  Kharkoff,  it  should  be  done  to- 
morrow, and  she  need  worry  no  longer  over  her 
broken  contract  with  the  American  theatre  man- 
agers. But  women  are  not  that  way.  She  prefers 
the  hopeless  love.  Ah,  well,  I  shall  let  you  know 
if  anything  new  happens.  Good-night,  and  a  thou- 
sand thanks  for  your  help,  gentlemen." 

Nothing  was  said  by  either  of  us  on  our  journey 
uptown,  for  it  was  late  and  I,  at  least,  was  tired. 

But  Kennedy  had  no  intention  of  going  to  bed,  I 
found.  Instead,  he  sat  down  in  his  easy  chair  and 
shaded  his  eyes,  apparently  in  deep  thought.  As  I 
stood  by  the  table  to  fill  my  pipe  for  a  last  smoke, 
I  saw  that  he  was  carefully  regarding  the  letter  he 
had  picked  up,  turning  it  over  and  over,  and  appar- 
ently debating  with  himself  what  to  do  with  it. 

"  Some  kinds  of  paper  can  be  steamed  open  with- 
out leaving  any  trace,"  he  remarked  in  answer  to 
my  unspoken  question,  laying  the  letter  down  before 
me. 

I  read  the  address:  "  M.  Alexander  Alexandro- 
vitch  Orloff,  —  Rue  de ,  Paris,  France." 

"  Letter-opening  has  been  raised  to  a  fine  art  by 
the  secret  service  agents  of  foreign  countries,"  he 
continued.  "  Why  not  take  a  chance?  The  simple 
operation  of  steaming  a  letter  open  is  followed  by 
reburnishing  the  flap  with  a  bone  instrument,  and 
no  trace  is  left.  I  can't  do  that,  for  this  letter  is 
sealed  with  wax.  One  way  would  be  to  take  a 
matrix  of  the  seal  before  breaking  the  wax  and  then 
replace  a  duplicate  of  it.  No,  I  won't  risk  it.  I'll 
try  a  scientific  way." 


72  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Between  two  pieces  of  smooth  wood,  Craig  laid 
the  letter  flat,  so  that  the  edges  projected  about  a 
thirty-second  of  an  inch.  He  flattened  the  project- 
ing edge  of  the  envelope,  then  roughened  it,  and 
finally  slit  it  open. 

"  You  see,  Walter,  later  I  will  place  the  letter 
back,  apply  a  hair  line  of  strong  white  gum,  and 
unite  the  edges  of  the  envelope  under  pressure.  Let 
us  see  what  we  have  here." 

He  drew  out  what  seemed  to  be  a  manuscript  on 
very  thin  paper,  and  spread  it  out  flat  on  the  table 
before  us.  Apparently  it  was  a  scientific  paper  on 
a  rather  unusual  subject,  "  Spontaneous  Generation 
of  Life."  It  was  in  longhand  and  read: 


I  will  not  attempt  to  reproduce  in  facsimile  the 
entire  manuscript,  for  it  is  unnecessary,  and,  in  fact, 
I  merely  set  down  part  of  its  contents  here  because 
it  seemed  so  utterly  valueless  to  me  at  the  time.  It 
went  on  to  say: 

While  Betaillon  punctured  the  eggs  with  a  platinum 
needle  and  developed  them  by  means  of  electric  discharges, 
Loeb  in  America  placed  eggs  of  the  sea-urchin  in  a  strong 
solution  of  sea  water,  then  in  a  bath  where  they  were  sub- 
jected to  the  action  of  butyric  acid.  Finally  they  were 
placed  in  ordinary  sea  water  again,  where  they  developed  in 
the  natural  manner.  Delage  at  Roscorf  used  a  liquid  con- 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  73 

taining  salts  of  magnesia  and  tannate  of  ammonia  to  produce 
the  same  result. 

In  his  latest  book  on  the  Origin  of  Life  Dr.  Charlton 
Bastian  tells  of  using  two  solutions.  One  consisted  of  two 
or  three  drops  of  dilute  sodium  silicate  with  eight  drops 
of  liquor  ferri  pernitratis  to  one  ounce  of  distilled  water. 
The  other  was  composed  of  the  same  amount  of  the  silicate 
with  six  drops  of  dilute  phosphoric  acid  and  six  grains  of 
ammonium  phosphate.  He  filled  sterilised  tubes,  sealed  them 
hermetically,  and  heated  them  to  125  or  145  degrees,  Centi- 
grade, although  60  or  70  degrees  would  have  killed  any 
bacteria  remaining  in  them. 

Next  he  exposed  them  to  sunlight  in  a  south  window  for 
from  two  to  four  months.  When  the  tubes  were  opened 
Dr.  Bastian  found  organisms  in  them  which  differed  in  no 
way  from  real  bacteria.  They  grew  and  multiplied.  He 
contends  that  he  has  proved  the  possibility  of  spontaneous 
generation  of  life. 

Then  there  were  the  experiments  of  John  Butler  Burke 
of  Cambridge,  who  claimed  that  he  had  developed  "  radi- 
obes  "  in  tubes  of  sterilised  bouillon  by  means  of  radium 
emanations.  Daniel  Berthelot  in  France  last  year  announced 
that  he  had  used  the  ultra-violet  rays  to  duplicate  nature's 
own  process  of  chlorophyll  assimilation.  He  has  broken  up 
carbon  dioxide  and  water-vapour  in  the  air  in  precisely  the 
same  way  that  the  green  cells  of  plants  do  it. 

Leduc  at  Nantes  has  made  crystals  grow  from  an  artificial 
"  egg  "  composed  of  certain  chemicals.  These  crystals  show 
all  the  apparent  vital  phenomena  without  being  actually  alive. 
His  work  is  interesting,  for  it  shows  the  physical  forces  that 
probably  control  minute  life  cells,  once  they  are  created. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  asked  Kennedy, 
noting  the  puzzled  look  on  my  face  as  I  finished 
reading. 

"  Well,  recent  research  in  the  problem  of  the 
origin  of  life  may  be  very  interesting,"  I  replied. 


74  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  There  are  a  good  many  chemicals  mentioned  here 
— I  wonder  if  any  of  them  is  poisonous?  But  I  am 
of  the  opinion  that  there  is  something  more  to  this 
manuscript  than  a  mere  scientific  paper." 

"  Exactly,  Walter,"  said  Kennedy  in  half  raillery. 
"  What  I  wanted  to  know  was  how  you  would  sug- 
gest getting  at  that  something." 

Study  as  I  might,  I  could  make  nothing  out  of  it. 
Meanwhile  Craig  was  busily  figuring  with  a  piece 
of  paper  and  a  pencil. 

"  I  give  it  up,  Craig,"  I  said  at  last.  "  It  is  late. 
Perhaps  we  had  better  both  turn  in,  and  we  "may 
have  some  ideas  on  it  in  the  morning." 

For  answer  he  merely  shook  his  head  and  con- 
tinued to  scribble  and  figure  on  the  paper.  With 
a  reluctant  good-night  I  shut  my  door,  determined 
to  be  up  early  in  the  morning  and  go  for  the  tubes 
that  Kharkoff  was  to  prepare. 

But  in  the  morning  Kennedy  was  gone.  I  dressed 
hastily,  and  was  just  about  to  go  out  when  he  hurried 
in,  showing  plainly  the  effects  of  having  spent  a 
sleepless  night.  He  flung  an  early  edition  of  a 
newspaper  on  the  table. 

"  Too  late,"  he  exclaimed.  "  I  tried  to  reach 
Kharkoff,  but  it  was  too  late." 

"  Another  East  Side  Bomb  Outrage,"  I  read. 
"  While  returning  at  a  late  hour  last  night  from  a 
patient,  Dr.  Nicholas  Kharkoff,  of East  Broad- 
way, was  severely  injured  by  a  bomb  which  had  been 
placed  in  his  hallway  earlier  in  the  evening.  Dr. 
Kharkoff,  who  is  a  well-known  physician  on  the  East 
Side,  states  that  he  has  been  constantly  shadowed 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  75 

by  some  one  unknown  for  the  past  week  or  two. 
He  attributes  his  escape  with  his  life  to  the  fact  that 
since  he  was  shadowed  he  has  observed  extreme 
caution.  Yesterday  his  cook  was  poisoned  and  is 
now  dangerously  ill.  Dr.  Kharkoff  stands  high  in 
the  Russian  community,  and  it  is  thought  by  the 
police  that  the  bomb  was  placed  by  a  Russian  polit- 
ical agent,  as  Kharkoff  has  been  active  in  the  ranks 
of  the  revolutionists." 

"  But  what  made  you  anticipate  it?  "  I  asked  of 
Kennedy,  considerably  mystified. 

"  The  manuscript,"  he  replied. 

"  The  manuscript?     How?     Where  is  it?" 

"  After  I  found  that  it  was  too  late  to  save 
Kharkoff  and  that  he  was  well  cared  for  at  the  hos- 
pital, I  hurried  to  Saratovsky's.  Kharkoff  had 
fortunately  left  the  tubes  there,  and  I  got  them. 
Here  they  are.  As  for  the  manuscript  in  the  letter, 
I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  slip  upstairs  by  some 
strategy  and  return  it  where  I  found  it,  when  you 
went  for  the  tubes  this  morning.  Kazanovitch  was 
out,  and  I  have  returned  it  myself,  so  you  need  not 
go,  now." 

"  He's  coming  to  see  you  to-day,  isn't  he?  " 

"  I  hope  so.  I  left  a  note  asking  him  to  bring 
Miss  Nevsky,  if  possible,  too.  Come,  let  us  break- 
fast and  go  over  to  the  laboratory.  They  may 
arrive  at  any  moment.  Besides,  I'm  interested  to 
see  what  the  tubes  disclose." 

Instead  of  Kazanovitch  awaiting  us  at  the  labora- 
tory, however,  we  found  Miss  Nevsky,  haggard  and 
worn.  She  was  a  tall,  striking  girl  with  more  of 


76  THE  POISONED  PEN 

the  Gaul  than  the  Slav  in  her  appearance.  There 
was  a  slightly  sensuous  curve  to  her  mouth,  but  on 
the  whole  her  face  was  striking  and  intellectual.  I 
felt  that  if  she  chose  she  could  fascinate  a  man  so 
that  he  would  dare  anything.  I  never  before  under- 
stood why  the  Russian  police  feared  the  women  rev- 
olutionists so  much.  It  was  because  they  were  them- 
selves, plus  every  man  they  could  influence. 

Nevsky  appeared  very  excited.  She  talked  rap- 
idly, and  fire  flashed  from  her  grey  eyes.  "  They 
tell  me  at  the  club,"  she  began,  "  that  you  are  in- 
vestigating the  terrible  things  that  are  happening  to 
us.  Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,  it  is  awful  1  Last 
night  I  was  staying  with  some  friends  on  East  Broad- 
way. Suddenly  we  heard  a  terrific  explosion  up  the 
street.  It  was  in  front  of  Dr.  Kharkoff's  house. 
Thank  Heaven,  he  is  still  alive!  But  I  was  so 
unnerved  I  could  not  sleep.  I  fancied  I  might  be 
the  next  to  go. 

"  Early  this  morning  I  hastened  to  return  to  Fifth 
Avenue.  As  I  entered  the  door  of  my  room  I  could 
not  help  thinking  of  the  horrible  fate  of  Dr.  Khar- 
koff.  For  some  unknown  reason,  just  as  I  was  about 
to  push  the  door  farther  open,  I  hesitated  and  looked 
— I  almost  fainted.  There  stood  another  bomb 
just  inside.  If  I  had  moved  the  door  a  fraction 
of  an  inch  it  would  have  exploded.  I  screamed,  and 
Olga,  sick  as  she  was,  ran  to  my  assistance — or 
perhaps  she  thought  something  had  happened  to 
Boris.  It  is  standing  there  yet.  None  of  us  dares 
touch  it.  Oh,  Professor  Kennedy,  it  is  dreadful, 
dreadful.  And  I  cannot  find  Boris — Mr.  Kazano- 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  77 

vitch,  I  mean.  Saratovsky,  who  is  like  a  father  to 
us  all,  is  scarcely  able  to  speak.  Dr.  Kharkoff  is 
helpless  in  the  hospital.  Oh,  what  are  we  to  do, 
what  are  we  to  do?  " 

She  stood  trembling  before  us,  imploring. 

"  Calm  yourself,  Miss  Nevsky,"  said  Kennedy  in 
a  reassuring  tone.  u  Sit  down  and  let  us  plan.  I 
take  it  that  it  was  a  chemical  bomb  and  not  one 
with  a  fuse,  or  you  would  have  a  different  story  to 
tell.  First  of  all,  we  must  remove  it.  That  is 
easily  done." 

He  called  up  a  near-by  garage  and  ordered  an 
automobile.  "  I  will  drive  it  myself,"  he  ordered, 
"  only  send  a  man  around  with  it  immediately." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  she  cried,  running  toward  him, 
"  you  must  not  risk  it.  It  is  bad  enough  that  we 
should  risk  our  lives.  But  strangers  must  not. 
Think,  Professor  Kennedy.  Suppose  the  bomb 
should  explode  at  a  touch!  Had  we  not  better 
call  the  police  and  let  them  take  the  risk,  even  if 
it  does  get  into  the  papers?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Kennedy  firmly.  "  Miss  Nevsky, 
I  am  quite  willing  to  take  the  risk.  Besides,  here 
comes  the  automobile." 

"  You  are  too  kind,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Kazano- 
vitch  himself  could  do  no  more.  How  am  I  ever 
to  thank  you?  " 

On  the  back  of  the  automobile  Kennedy  placed  a 
peculiar  oblong  box,  swung  on  two  concentric  rings 
balanced  on  pivots,  like  a  most  delicate  compass. 

We  rode  quickly  downtown,  and  Kennedy  hurried 
into  the  house,  bidding  us  stand  back.  With  a  long 


78  THE  POISONED  PEN 

pair  of  tongs  he  seized  the  bomb  firmly.  It  was  a 
tense  moment.  Suppose  his  hand  should  unneces- 
sarily tremble,  or  he  should  tip  it  just  a  bit — it  might 
explode  and  blow  him  to  atoms.  Keeping  it  per- 
fectly horizontal  he  carried  it  carefully  out  to  the 
waiting  automobile  and  placed  it  gingerly  in  the  box. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  thing  to  fill  the  box  with 
water?"  I  suggested,  having  read  somewhere  that 
that  was  the  usual  way  of  opening  a  bomb,  under 
water. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  as  he  closed  the  lid,  "  that 
wouldn't  do  any  good  with  a  bomb  of  this  sort. 
It  would  explode  under  water  just  as  well  as  in  air. 
This  is  a  safety  bomb-carrier.  It  is  known  as  the 
Cardan  suspension.  It  was  invented  by  Professor 
Cardono,  an  Italian.  You  see,  it  is  always  held  in 
a  perfectly  horizontal  position,  no  matter  how  you 
jar  it.  I  am  now  going  to  take  the  bomb  to  some 
safe  and  convenient  place  where  I  can  examine  it  at 
my  leisure.  Meanwhile,  Miss  Nevsky,  I  will  leave 
you  in  charge  of  Mr.  Jameson." 

;'  Thank  you  so  much,"  she  said.  "  I  feel  better 
now.  I  didn't  dare  go  into  my  own  room  with  that 
bomb  at  the  door.  If  Mr.  Jameson  can  only  find 
out  what  has  become  of  Mr.  Kazanovitch,  that  is 
all  I  want.  What  do  you  suppose  has  happened  to 
him?  Is  he,  too,  hurt  or  ill?  " 

1  Very  well,  then,"  Craig  replied.  "  I  will  com- 
mission you,  Walter,  to  find  Kazanovitch.  I  shall 
be  back  again  shortly  before  noon  to  examine  the 
wreck  of  Kharkov's  office.  Meet  me  there.  Good- 
bye, Miss  Nevsky." 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  79 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  I  had  had  a  roving 
commission  to  find  some  one  who  had  disappeared 
in  New  York.  I  started  by  inquiring  for  every  pos- 
sible place  that  he  might  be  found.  No  one  at  the 
Fifth  Avenue  house  could  tell  me  anything  definite, 
though  they  were  able  to  give  me  a  number  of  places 
where  he  was  known.  I  consumed  practically  the 
whole  morning  going  from  one  place  to  another  on 
the  East  Side.  Some  of  the  picturesque  haunts  of 
the  revolutionists  would  have  furnished  material  for 
a  story  in  themselves.  But  nowhere  had  they  any 
word  of  Kazanovitch,  until  I  visited  a  Polish  artist 
who  was  illustrating  his  stories.  He  had  been  there, 
looking  very  worn  and  tired,  and  had  talked 
vacantly  about  the  sketches  which  the  artist  had 
showed  him.  After  that  I  lost  all  trace  of  him 
again.  It  was  nearly  noon  as  I  hurried  to  meet 
Craig  at  Kharkov's. 

Imagine  my  surprise  to  see  Kazanovitch  already 
there,  seated  in  the  wrecked  office,  furiously  smok- 
ing cigarettes  and  showing  evident  signs  of  having 
something  very  disturbing  on  his  mind.  The  mo- 
ment he  caught  sight  of  me,  he  hurried  forward. 

"  Is  Professor  Kennedy  coming  soon?  "  he  in- 
quired eagerly.  "  I  was  going  up  to  his  laboratory, 
but  I  called  up  Nevsky,  and  she  said  he  would  be 
here  at  noon."  Then  he  put  his  hand  up  to  my 
ear  and  whispered,  "  I  have  found  out  who  it  was 
who  shadowed  Kharkoff." 

"Who?"  I  asked,  saying  nothing  of  my  long 
search  of  the  morning. 

"  His  name  is  Revalenko — Feodor  Revalenko.     I 


8o  THE  POISONED  PEN 

saw  him  standing  across  the  street  in  front  of  the 
house  last  night  after  you  had  gone.  When  Khar- 
koff  left,  he  followed  him.  I  hurried  out  quietly 
and  followed  both  of  them.  Then  the  explosion 
came.  This  man  slipped  down  a  narrow  street  as 
soon  as  he  saw  Kharkoff  fall.  As  people  were  run- 
ning to  Kharkov's  assistance,  I  did  the  same.  He 
saw  me  following  him  and  ran,  and  I  ran,  too,  and 
overtook  him.  Mr.  Jameson,  when  I  looked  into 
his  face  I  could  not  believe  it.  Revalenko — he  is 
one  of  the  most  ardent  members  of  our  organisation. 
He  would  not  tell  me  why  he  had  followed  Kharkoff. 
I  could  make  him  confess  nothing.  But  I  am  sure 
he  is  an  agent  provocateur  of  the  Russian  govern- 
ment, that  he  is  secretly  giving  away  the  plans  that 
we  are  making,  everything.  We  have  a  plot  on  now 
— perhaps  he  has  informed  them  of  that.  Of  course 
he  denied  setting  the  bomb  or  trying  to  poison  any 
of  us,  but  he  was  very  frightened.  I  shall  denounce 
him  at  the  first  opportunity." 

I  said  nothing.  Kazanovitch  regarded  me  keenly 
to  see  what  impression  the  story  made  on  me,  but 
I  did  not  let  my  looks  betray  anything,  except  proper 
surprise,  and  he  seemed  satisfied. 

It  might  be  true,  after  all,  I  reasoned,  the  more 
I  thought  of  it.  I  had  heard  that  the  Russian 
consul-general  had  a  very  extensive  spy  system  in 
the  city.  In  fact,  even  that  morning  I  had  had 
pointed  out  to  me  some  spies  at  work  in  the  public 
libraries,  watching  what  young  Russians  were  read- 
ing. I  did  not  doubt  that  there  were  spies  in  the 
very  inner  circle  of  the  revolutionists  themselves. 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  81 

At  last  Kennedy  appeared.  While  Kazanovitch 
poured  forth  his  story,  with  here  and  there,  I 
fancied,  an  elaboration  of  a  particularly  dramatic 
point,  Kennedy  quickly  examined  the  walls  and  floor 
of  the  wrecked  office  with  his  magnifying-glass. 
When  he  had  concluded  his  search,  he  turned  to 
Kazanovitch. 

"  Would  it  be  possible,"  he  asked,  "  to  let  this 
Revalenko  believe  that  he  could  trust  you,  that  it 
would  be  safe  for  him  to  visit  you  to-night  at  Sara- 
tovsky's?  Surely  you  can  find  some  way  of  reassur- 
ing him." 

u  Yes,  I  think  that  can  be  arranged,"  said  Kaza- 
novitch. "  I  will  go  to  him,  will  make  him  think 
I  have  misunderstood  him,  that  I  have  not  lost  faith 
in  him,  provided  he  can  explain  all.  He  will  come. 
Trust  me." 

"  Very  well,  then.  To-night  at  eight  I  shall  be 
there,"  promised  Kennedy,  as  the  novelist  and  he 
shook  hands. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Revalenko  story?" 
I  asked  of  Craig,  as  we  started  uptown  again. 

"  Anything  is  possible  in  this  case,"  he  answered 
sententiously. 

"  Well,"  I  exclaimed,  "  this  all  is  truly  Russian. 
For  intrigue  they  are  certainly  the  leaders  of  the 
world  to-day.  There  is  only  one  person  that  I 
have  any  real  confidence  in,  and  that  is  old  Sara- 
tovsky  himself.  Somebody  is  playing  traitor,  Craig. 
Who  is  it?" 

'  That  is  what  science  will  tell  us  to-night,"  was 
his  brief  reply.  There  was  no  getting  anything  out 


82  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  Craig  until  he  was  absolutely  sure  that  his  proofs 
had  piled  up  irresistibly. 

Promptly  at  eight  we  met  at  the  old  house  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  Kharkoff's  wounds  had  proved  less 
severe  than  had  at  first  been  suspected,  and,  having 
recovered  from  the  shock,  he  insisted  on  being  trans- 
ferred from  the  hospital  in  a  private  ambulance  so 
that  he  could  be  near  his  friends.  Saratovsky,  in 
spite  of  his  high  fever,  ordered  that  the  door  to  his 
room  be  left  open  and  his  bed  moved  so  that  he 
could  hear  and  see  what  passed  in  the  room  down 
the  hall.  Nevsky  was  there  and  Kazanovitch,  and 
even  brave  Olga  Samarova,  her  pretty  face  burning 
with  the  fever,  would  not  be  content  until  she  was 
carried  upstairs,  although  Dr.  Kharkoff  protested 
vigorously  that  it  might  have  fatal  consequences. 
Revalenko,  an  enigma  of  a  man,  sat  stolidly.  The 
only  thing  I  noticed  about  him  was  an  occasional 
look  of  malignity  at  Nevsky  and  Kazanovitch  when 
he  thought  he  was  unobserved. 

It  was  indeed  a  strange  gathering,  the  like  of 
which  the  old  house  had  never  before  harboured  in 
all  its  varied  history.  Every  one  was  on  the  qui 
vive,  as  Kennedy  placed  on  the  table  a  small  wire 
basket  containing  some  test-tubes,  each  tube  corked 
with  a  small  wadding  of  cotton.  There  was  also 
a  receptacle  holding  a  dozen  glass-handled  platinum 
wires,  a  microscope,  and  a  number  of  slides.  The 
bomb,  now  rendered  innocuous  by  having  been 
crushed  in  a  huge  hydraulic  press,  lay  in  fragments 
in  the  box. 

"  First,  I  want  you  to  consider  the  evidence  of 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  83 

the  bomb,"  began  Kennedy.  "  No  crime,  I  firmly 
believe,  is  ever  perpetrated  without  leaving  some 
clue.  The  slightest  trace,  even  a  drop  of  blood 
no  larger  than  a  pin-head,  may  suffice  to  convict  a 
murderer.  The  impression  made  on  a  cartridge  by 
the  hammer  of  a  pistol,  or  a  single  hair  found  on 
the  clothing  of  a  suspected  person,  may  serve  as 
valid  proof  of  crime. 

"  Until  lately,  however,  science  was  powerless 
against  the  bomb-thrower.  A  bomb  explodes  into  a 
thousand  parts,  and  its  contents  suddenly  become 
gaseous.  You  can't  collect  and  investigate  the  gases. 
Still,  the  bomb-thrower  is  sadly  deceived  if  he  be- 
lieves the  bomb  leaves  no  trace  for  the  scientific 
detective.  It  is  difficult  for  the  chemist  to  find  out 
the  secrets  of  a  shattered  bomb.  But  it  can  be  done. 

"  I  examined  the  walls  of  Dr.  Kharkoff's  house, 
and  fortunately  was  able  to  pick  out  a  few  small 
fragments  of  the  contents  of  the  bomb  which  had 
been  thrown  out  before  the  flame  ignited  them.  I 
have  analysed  them,  and  find  them  to  be  a  peculiar 
species  of  blasting-gelatine.  It  is  made  at  only  one 
factory  in  this  country,  and  I  have  a  list  of  pur- 
chasers for  some  time  back.  One  name,  or  rather 
the  description  of  an  assumed  name,  in  the  list  agrees 
with  other  evidence  I  have  been  able  to  collect. 
Moreover,  the  explosive  was  placed  in  a  lead  tube. 
Lead  tubes  are  common  enough.  However,  there 
is  no  need  of  further  evidence." 

He  paused,  and  the  revolutionists  stared  fixedly 
at  the  fragments  of  the  now  harmless  bomb  before 
them. 


84  THE  POISONED  PEN 

'  The  exploded  bomb,"  concluded  Craig,  "  was 
composed  of  the  same  materials  as  this,  which  I 
found  unexploded  at  the  door  of  Miss  Nevsky's 
room — the  same  sort  of  lead  tube,  the  same  blasting- 
gelatine.  ,The  fuse,  a  long  cord  saturated  in  sul- 
phur, was  merely  a  blind.  The  real  method  of  ex- 
plosion was  by  means  of  a  chemical  contained  in  a 
glass  tube  which  was  inserted  after  the  bomb  was 
put  in  place.  The  least  jar,  such  as  opening  a  door, 
which  would  tip  the  bomb  ever  so  little  out  of  the 
horizontal,  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  explode  it. 
The  exploded  bomb- and  the  unexploded  were  in  all 
respects  identical — the  same  hand  set  both." 

A  gasp  of  astonishment  ran  through  the  circle. 
Could  it  be  that  one  of  their  own  number  was  play- 
ing false?  In  at  least  this  instance  in  the  warfare 
of  the  chemist  and  the  dynamiter  the  chemist  had 
come  out  ahead. 

"  But,"  Kennedy  hurried  along,  "  the  thing  that 
interests  me  most  about  this  case  is  not  the  evidence 
of  the  bombs.  Bombs  are  common  enough  weapons, 
after  all.  It  is  the  evidence  of  almost  diabolical 
cunning  that  has  been  shown  in  the  effort  to  get  rid 
of  the  father  of  the  revolution,  as  you  like  to  call 
him." 

Craig  cleared  his  throat  and  played  with  our 
feelings  as  a  cat  does  with  a  mouse.  "  Strange  to 
say,  the  most  deadly,  the  most  insidious,  the  most 
elusive  agency  for  committing  murder  is  one  that 
can  be  obtained  and  distributed  with  practically  no 
legal  restrictions.  Any  doctor  can  purchase  disease 
germs  in  quantities  sufficient  to  cause  thousands  and 


85 

thousands  of  deaths  without  giving  any  adequate 
explanation  for  what  purpose  he  requires  them. 
More  than  that,  any  person  claiming  to  be  a  scientist 
or  having  some  acquaintance  with  science  and  sci- 
entists can  usually  obtain  germs  without  difficulty. 
Every  pathological  laboratory  contains  stores  of 
disease  germs,  neatly  sealed  up  in  test-tubes,  sufficient 
to  depopulate  whole  cities  and  even  nations.  With 
almost  no  effort,  I  myself  have  actually  cultivated 
enough  germs  to  kill  every  person  within  a  radius 
of  a  mile  of  the  Washington  Arch  down  the  street. 
They  are  here  in  these  test-tubes." 

We  scarcely  breathed.  Suppose  Kennedy  should 
let  loose  this  deadly  foe,  these  germs  of  death, 
whatever  they  were?  Yet  that  was  precisely  what 
some  fiend  incarnate  had  done,  and  that  fiend  was 
sitting  in  the  room  with  us. 

"  Here  I  have  one  of  the  most  modern  dark-field 
microscopes,"  he  resumed.  "  On  this  slide  I  have 
placed  a  little  pin-point  of  a  culture  made  from  the 
blood  of  Saratovsky.  I  will  stain  the  culture.  Now 
— er — Walter,  look  through  the  microscope  under 
this  powerful  light  and  tell  us  what  you  see  on  the 
slide." 

I  bent  over.  "  In  the  darkened  field  I  see  a 
number  of  germs  like  dancing  points  of  coloured 
light,"  I  said.  "  They  are  wriggling  about  with  a 
peculiar  twisting  motion." 

"  Like  a  corkscrew,"  interrupted  Kennedy,  im- 
patient to  go  on.  "  They  are  of  the  species  known 
as  Spirilla.  Here  is  another  slide,  a  culture  from 
the  blood  of  Samarova." 


86  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  I  see  them  there,  too,"  I  exclaimed. 

Every  one  was  now  crowding  about  for  a  glimpse, 
as  I  raised  my  head. 

"  What  is  this  germ?  "  asked  a  hollow  voice  from 
the  doorway. 

We  looked,  startled.  There  stood  Saratovsky, 
more  like  a  ghost  than  a  living  being.  Kennedy 
sprang  forward  and  caught  him  as  he  swayed,  and 
I  moved  up  an  armchair  for  him. 

"  It  is  the  spirillum  Obermeieri,"  said  Kennedy, 
"  the  germ  of  the  relapsing  fever,  but  of  the  most 
virulent  Asiatic  strain.  Obermeyer,  who  discovered 
it,  caught  the  disease  and  died  of  it,  a  martyr  to 
science." 

A  shriek  of  consternation  rang  forth  from  Sama- 
rova.  The  rest  of  us  paled,  but  repressed  our  feel- 
ings. 

"  One  moment,"  added  Kennedy  hastily.  "  Don't 
be  unnecessarily  alarmed.  I  have  something  more 
to  say.  Be  calm  for  a  moment  longer." 

He  unrolled  a  blue-print  and  placed  it  on  the  table. 

"  This,"  he  continued,  "  is  the  photographic  copy 
of  a  message  which,  I  suppose,  is  now  on  its  way 
to  the  Russian  minister  to  France  in  Paris.  Some 
one  in  this  room  besides  Mr.  Jameson  and  myself 
has  seen  this  letter  before.  I  will  hold  it  up  as  I 
pass  around  and  let  each  one  see  it." 

In  intense  silence  Kennedy  passed  before  each  of 
us,  holding  up  the  blue-print  and  searchingly  scan- 
ning the  faces.  No  one  betrayed  by  any  sign  that 
he  recognised  it.  At  last  it  came  to  Revalenko 
himself. 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  87 

"  The  checkerboard,  the  checkerboard !  "  he  cried, 
his  eyes  half  starting  from  their  sockets  as  he  gazed 
at  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  Kennedy  in  a  low  tone,  "  the  checker- 
board. It  took  me  some  time  to  figure  it  out.  It 
is  a  cipher  that  would  have  baffled  Poe.  In  fact, 
there  is  no  means  of  deciphering  it  unless  you  chance 
to  know  its  secret.  I  happened  to  have  heard  of  it 
a  long  time  ago  abroad,  yet  my  recollection  was 
vague,  and  I  had  to  reconstruct  it  with  much  diffi- 
culty. It  took  me  all  night  to  do  it.  It  is  a  cipher, 
however,  that  is  well  known  among  the  official 
classes  of  Russia. 

**  Fortunately  I  remember  the  crucial  point,  with- 
out which  I  should  still  be  puzzling  over  it.  It  is 
that  a  perfectly  innocent  message,  on  its  face,  may 
be  used  to  carry  a  secret,  hidden  message.  The  let- 
ters which  compose  the  words,  instead  of  being 
written  continuously  along,  as  we  ordinarily  write, 
have,  as  you  will  observe  if  you  look  twice,  breaks, 
here  and  there.  These  breaks  in  the  letters  stand 
for  numbers. 

"  Thus  the  first  words  are  *  Many  thanks.'  The 
first  break  is  at  the  end  of  the  letter  '  n,'  between 
it  and  the  '  y.'  There  are  three  letters  before  this 
break.  That  stands  for  the  number  3. 

"  When  you  come  to  the  end  of  a  word,  if  the 
stroke  is  down  at  the  end  of  the  last  letter,  that 
means  no  break;  if  it  is  up,  it  means  a  break.  The 
stroke  at  the  end  of  the  '  y  '  is  plainly  down.  There- 
fore there  is  no  break  until  after  the  *  t.'  That 
gives  us  the  number  2.  So  we  get  i  next,  and  again 


88 


THE  POISONED  PEN 


i,  and  still  again  i;  then  5;  then  5;  then  i;  and 
so  on. 

"  Now,  take  these  numbers  in  pairs,  thus  3 — 2 ; 
i — i ;  i — 5  ;  5 — i.  By  consulting  this  table  you  can 
arrive  at  the  hidden  message." 

He  held  up  a  cardboard  bearing  the  following 
arrangement  of  the  letters  of  the  alphabet: 


1    I 

2        I       3 

4 

5 

i        |      A 

B      |      C 

D 

E 

2           |         F 

G      |      H 

IJ 

K 

3        1      L 

M      |      N 

O 

P 

4       |      Q 

R      |      S 

T 

U 

5        1      V 

W      |      X 

Y 

Z 

"  Thus,"  he  continued,  "  3 — 2  means  the  third 
column  and  second  line.  That  is  '  H.'  Then  i — i 
is  'A';  i — 5  is  'V;  5 — i  is  'E' — and  we  get 
the  word  '  Have.'  " 

Not  a  soul  stirred  as  Kennedy  unfolded  the  cipher. 
What  was  the  terrible  secret  in  that  scientific  essay 
I  had  puzzled  so  unsuccessfully  over,  the  night 
before? 

"  Even  this  can  be  complicated  by  choosing  a 
series  of  fixed  numbers  to  be  added  to  the  real  num- 
bers over  and  over  again.  Or  the  order  of  the 
alphabet  can  be  changed.  However,  we  have  the 
straight  cipher  only  to  deal  with  here." 

"  And  what  for  Heaven's  sake  does  it  reveal?  " 
asked  Saratovsky,  leaning  forward,  forgetful  of  the 
fever  that  was  consuming  him. 


89 

Kennedy  pulled  out  a  piece  of  paper  on  which 
he  had  written  the  hidden  message  and  read: 

"  Have  successfully  inoculated  S.  with  fever. 
Public  opinion  America  would  condemn  violence. 
.Think  best  death  should  appear  natural.  Samarova 
infected  also.  Cook  unfortunately  took  dose  in 
food  intended  Kharkoff.  Now  have  three  cases. 
Shall  stop  there  at  present.  Dangerous  excite 
further  suspicion  health  authorities." 

Rapidly  I  eliminated  in  my  mind  the  persons  men- 
tioned, as  Craig  read.  Saratovsky  of  course  was 
not  guilty,  for  the  plot  had  centred  about  him.  Nor 
was  little  Samarova,  nor  Dr.  Kharkoff.  I  noted 
Revalenko  and  Kazanovitch  glaring  at  each  other 
and  hastily  tried  to  decide  which  I  more  strongly 
suspected. 

"Will  get  K.,"  continued  Kennedy.  "Think 
bomb  perhaps  all  right.  K.  case  different  from  S. 
No  public  sentiment." 

"  So  Kharkoff  had  been  marked  for  slaughter," 
I  thought.  Or  was  "  K."  Kazanovitch?  I  re- 
garded Revalenko  more  closely.  He  was  suspi- 
ciously sullen. 

"  Must  have  more  money.  Cable  ten  thousand 
rubles  at  once  Russian  consul-general.  Will  advise 
you  plot  against  Czar  as  details  perfected  here. 
Expect  break  up  New  York  band  with  death  of  S." 

If  Kennedy  himself  had  thrown  a  bomb  or  scat- 
tered broadcast  the  contents  of  the  test-tubes,  the 
effect  could  not  have  been  more  startling  than  his 
last  quiet  sentence — and  sentence  it  was  in  two 
senses. 


90  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Signed,"  he  said,  folding  the  paper  up  deliber- 
ately, "  Ekaterina  Nevsky." 

It  was  as  if  a  cable  had  snapped  and  a  weight 
had  fallen.  Revalenko  sprang  up  and  grasped 
Kazanovitch  by  the  hand.  "  Forgive  me,  comrade, 
for  ever  suspecting  you,"  he  cried. 

"  And  forgive  me  for  suspecting  you,"  replied 
Kazanovitch,  "  but  how  did  you  come  to  shadow 
Kharkoff?" 

"  I  ordered  him  to  follow  Kharkoff  secretly  and 
protect  him,"  explained  Saratovsky. 

Olga  and  Ekaterina  faced  each  other  fiercely. 
Olga  was  trembling  with  emotion.  Nevsky  stood 
coldly,  defiantly.  If  ever  there  was  a  consummate 
actress  it  was  she,  who  had  put  the  bomb  at  her 
own  door  and  had  rushed  off  to  start  Kennedy  on 
a  blind  trail. 

"  You  traitress,"  cried  Olga  passionately,  forget- 
ting all  in  her  outraged  love.  "  You  won  his  affec- 
tions from  me  by  your  false  beauty — yet  all  the 
time  you  would  have  killed  him  like  a  dog  for  the 
Czar's  gold.  At  last  you  are  unmasked — you  Azeff 
in  skirts.  False  friend — you  would  have  killed  us 
all— Saratovsky,  Kharkoff " 

"  Be  still,  little  fool,"  exclaimed  Nevsky  con- 
temptuously. "  The  spirilla  fever  has  affected  your 
brains.  Bah!  I  will  not  stay  with  those  who  are 
so  ready  to  suspect  an  old  comrade  on  the  mere 
word  of  a  charlatan.  Boris  Kazanovitch,  do  you 
stand  there  silent  and  let  this  insult  be  heaped  upon 
me?" 

For  answer,  Kazanovitch  deliberately  turned  his 


THE  GERM  OF  DEATH  91 

back  on  his  lover  of  a  moment  ago  and  crossed  the 
room.  "  Olga,"  he  pleaded,  "  I  have  been  a  fool. 
Some  day  I  may  be  worthy  of  your  love.  Fever  or 
not,  I  must  beg  your  forgiveness." 

With  a  cry  of  delight  the  actress  flung  her  arms 
about  Boris,  as  he  imprinted  a  penitent  kiss  on  her 
warm  lips. 

"  Simpleton,"  hissed  Nevsky  with  curling  lips. 
"  Now  you,  too,  will  die." 

"  One  moment,  Ekaterina  Nevsky,"  interposed 
Kennedy,  as  he  picked  up  some  vacuum  tubes  full 
of  a  golden-yellow  powder,  that  lay  on  the  table. 
"  The  spirilla,  as  scientists  now  know,  belong  to  the 
same  family  as  those  which  cause  what  we  call, 
euphemistically,  the  '  black  plague.'  It  is  the  same 
species  as  that  of  the  African  sleeping  sickness  and 
the  Philippine  yaws.  Last  year  a  famous  doctor 
whose  photograph  I  see  in  the  next  room,  Dr. 
Ehrlich  of  Frankfort,  discovered  a  cure  for  all  these 
diseases.  It  will  rid  the  blood  of  your  victims  of 
the  Asiatic  relapsing  fever  germs  in  forty-eight 
hours.  In  these  tubes  I  have  the  now  famous  sal- 
varsan." 

With  a  piercing  shriek  of  rage  at  seeing  her  deadly 
work  so  quickly  and  completely  undone,  Nevsky 
flung  herself  into  the  little  laboratory  behind  her  and 
bolted  the  door. 

Her  face  still  wore  the  same  cold,  contemptuous 
smile,  as  Kennedy  gently  withdrew  a  sharp  scalpel 
from  her  breast. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  best  this  way,  after  all,"  he  said 
simply. 


IV 
THE  FIREBUG 

A  BIG,  powerful,  red  touring-car,  with  a  shining 
brass  bell  on  the  front  of  it,  was  standing  at  the 
curb  before  our  apartment  late  one  afternoon  as 
I  entered.  It  was  such  a  machine  as  one  frequently 
sees  threading  its  reckless  course  in  and  out  among 
the  trucks  and  street-cars,  breaking  all  rules  and 
regulations,  stopping  at  nothing,  the  bell  clanging 
with  excitement,  policemen  holding  back  traffic  in- 
stead of  trying  to  arrest  the  driver — in  other  words, 
a  Fire  Department  automobile. 

I  regarded  it  curiously  for  a  moment,  for  every- 
thing connected  with  modern  fire-fighting  is  interest- 
ing.    Then  I  forgot  about  it  as  I  was  whisked  up 
in  the  elevator,  only  to  have  it  recalled  sharply  by 
the  sight  of  a  strongly  built,  grizzled  man  in  a  blue 
uniform  with  red  lining.     He  was  leaning  forward, 
earnestly  pouring  forth  a  story  into  Kennedy's  ear. 

II  And  back  of  the  whole  thing,  sir,"  I  heard  him 
say  as  he  brought  his  large  fist  down  on  the  table, 
"  is  a  firebug — mark  my  words." 

Before  I  could  close  the  door,  Craig  caught  my 
eye,  and  I  read  in  his  look  that  he  had  a  new  case 
— one  that  interested  him  greatly.  "  Walter,"  he 
cried,  "  this  is  Fire  Marshal  McCormick.  It's  all 
right,  McCormick.  Mr.  Jameson  is  an  accessory 
both  before  and  after  the  fact  in  my  detective  cases." 

92 


THE  FIREBUG  93 

A  firebug! — one  of  the  most  dangerous  of  crim- 
inals. The  word  excited  my  imagination  at  once, 
for  the  newspapers  had  lately  been  making  much 
of  the  strange  and  appalling  succession  of  appar- 
ently incendiary  fires  that  had  terrorised  the  business 
section  of  the  city. 

"  Just  what  makes  you  think  that  there  is  a  firebug 
— one  firebug,  I  mean — back  of  this  curious  epidemic 
of  fires?  "  asked  Kennedy,  leaning  back  in  his  morris- 
chair  with  his  finger-tips  together  and  his  eyes  half 
closed  as  if  expecting  a  revelation  from  some  sub- 
conscious train  of  thought  while  the  fire  marshal 
presented  his  case. 

"  Well,  usually  there  is  no  rhyme  or  reason  about 
the  firebug,"  replied  McCormick,  measuring  his 
words,  "  but  this  time  I  think  there  is  some  method 
in  his  madness.  You  know  the  Stacey  department- 
stores  and  their  allied  dry-goods  and  garment-trade 
interests?  " 

Craig  nodded.  Of  course  we  knew  of  the  gigan- 
tic dry-goods  combination.  It  had  been  the  talk 
of  the  press  at  the  time  of  its  formation,  a  few 
months  ago,  especially  as  it  included  among  its 
organisers  one  very  clever  business  woman,  Miss 
Rebecca  Wend.  There  had  been  considerable  op- 
position to  the  combination  in  the  trade,  but  Stacey 
had  shattered  it  by  the  sheer  force  of  his  personality. 

McCormick  leaned  forward  and,  shaking  his  fore- 
finger to  emphasise  his  point,  replied  slowly,  "  Prac- 
tically every  one  of  these  fires  has  been  directed 
against  a  Stacey  subsidiary  or  a  corporation  con- 
trolled by  them." 


94  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  But  if  it  has  gone  as  far  as  that,"  put  in  Ken- 
nedy, "  surely  the  regular  police  ought  to  be  of  more 
assistance  to  you  than  I." 

"  I  have  called  in  the  police,"  answered  McCor- 
mick  wearily,  "  but  they  haven't  even  made  up  their 
minds  whether  it  is  a  single  firebug  or  a  gang.  And 
in  the  meantime,  my  God,  Kennedy,  the  firebug  may 
start  a  fire  that  will  get  beyond  control !  " 

"  You  say  the  police  haven't  a  single  clue  to 
any  one  who  might  be  responsible  for  the  fires?  " 
I  asked,  hoping  that  perhaps  the  marshal  might 
talk  more  freely  of  his  suspicions  to  us  than  he  had 
already  expressed  himself  in  the  newspaper  inter- 
views I  had  read. 

"  Absolutely  not  a  clue — except  such  as  are  ridicu- 
lous," replied  McCormick,  twisting  his  cap  viciously. 

No  one  spoke.  We  were  waiting  for  McCormick 
to  go  on. 

"  The  first  fire,"  he  began,  repeating  his  story 
for  my  benefit,  although  Craig  listened  quite  as 
attentively  as  if  he  had  not  heard  it  already,  "  was 
at  the  big  store  of  Jones,  Green  &  Co.,  the  clothiers. 
The  place  was  heavily  insured.  Warren,  the  man- 
ager and  real  head  of  the  firm,  was  out  of  town  at 
the  time." 

The  marshal  paused  as  if  to  check  off  the  strange 
facts  in  his  mind  as  he  went  along. 

"  The  next  day  another  puzzling  fire  occurred. 
It  was  at  the  Quadrangle  Cloak  and  Suit  Co.,  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  There  had  been  some  trouble,  I 
believe,  with  the  employees,  and  the  company  had 
discharged  a  number  of  them.  Several  of  the 


THE  FIREBUG  95 

leaders  have  been  arrested,  but  I  can't  say  we  have 
anything  against  any  of  them.  Still,  Max  Bloom, 
the  manager  of  this  company,  insists  that  the  fire 
was  set  for  revenge,  and  indeed  it  looks  as  much 
like  a  fire  for  revenge  as  the  Jones-Green  fire  does  " 
— here  he  lowered  his  voice  confidentially — "  for  the 
purpose  of  collecting  insurance. 

;<  Then  came  the  fire  in  the  Slawson  Building,  a 
new  loft-building  that  had  been  erected  just  off 
Fourth  Avenue.  Other  than  the  fact  that  the 
Stacey  interests  put  up  the  money  for  financing  this 
building  there  seemed  to  be  no  reason  for  that  fire 
at  all.  The  building  was  reputed  to  be  earning  a 
good  return  on  the  investment,  and  I  was  at  a  loss 
to  account  for  the  fire.  I  have  made  no  arrests 
for  it — just  set  it  down  as  the  work  of  a  pure 
pyromaniac,  a  man  who  burns  buildings  for  fun,  a 
man  with  an  inordinate  desire  to  hear  the  fire-engines 
screech  through  the  streets  and  perhaps  get  a  chance 
to  show  a  little  heroism  in  *  rescuing '  tenants. 
However,  the  adjuster  for  the  insurance  company, 
Lazard,  and  the  adjuster  for  the  insured,  Hartstein, 
have  reached  an  agreement,  and  I  believe  the  in- 
surance is  to  be  paid." 

"  But,"  interposed  Kennedy,  "  I  see  no  evidence 
of  organised  arson  so  far." 

"  Wait,"  replied  the  fire  marshal.  "  That  was 
only  the  beginning,  you  understand.  A  little  later 
came  a  fire  that  looked  quite  like  an  attempt  to  mask 
a  robbery  by  burning  the  building  afterward.  That 
was  in  a  silk-house  near  Spring  Street.  But  after 
a  controversy  the 'adjusters  have  reached  an  agree- 


96  THE  POISONED  PEN 

ment  on  that  case.  I  mention  these  fires  because 
they  show  practically  all  the  types  of  work  of  the 
various  kinds  of  firebug — insurance,  revenge,  rob- 
bery, and  plain  insanity.  But  since  the  Spring  Street 
fire,  the  character  of  the  fires  has  been  more  uni- 
form. They  have  all  been  in  business  places,  or 
nearly  all." 

Here  the  fire  marshal  launched  forth  into  a  cata- 
logue of  fires  of  suspected  incendiary  origin,  at  least 
eight  in  all.  I  took  them  down  hastily,  intending 
to  use  the  list  some  time  in  a  box  head  with  an 
article  in  the  Star.  When  he  had  finished  his  list 
I  hastily  counted  up  the  number  of  killed.  There 
were  six,  two  of  them  firemen,  and  four  employees. 
The  money  loss  ranged  into  the  millions. 

McCormick  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  to 
brush  off  the  perspiration.  "  I  guess  this  thing  has 
got  on  my  nerves,"  he  muttered  hoarsely.  "  Every- 
where I  go  they  talk  about  nothing  else.  If  I  drop 
into  the  restaurant  for  lunch,  my  waiter  talks  of  it. 
If  I  meet  a  newspaper  man,  he  talks  of  it.  My 
barber  talks  of  it — everybody.  Sometimes  I  dream 
of  it;  other  times  I  lie  awake  thinking  about  it.  I 
tell  you,  gentlemen,  I've  sweated  blood  over  this 
problem." 

"  But,"  insisted  Kennedy,  "  I  still  can't  see  why 
you  link  all  these  fires  as  due  to  one  firebug.  I 
admit  there  is  an  epidemic  of  fires.  But  what  makes 
you  so  positive  that  it  is  all  the  work  of  one  man?  " 

"  I  was  coming  to  that.  For  one  thing,  he  isn't 
like  the  usual  firebug  at  all.  Ordinarily  they  start 
their  fires  with  excelsior  and  petroleum,  or  they 


THE  FIREBUG  97 

smear  the  wood  with  paraffin  or  they  use  gasoline, 
benzine,  or  something  of  that  sort.  This  fellow 
apparently  scorns  such  crude  methods.  I  can't  say 
how  he  starts  his  fires,  but  in  every  case  I  have 
mentioned  we  have  found  the  remains  of  a  wire. 
It  has  something  to  do  with  electricity — but  what, 
I  don't  know.  That's  one  reason  why  I  think  these 
fires  are  all  connected.  Here's  another." 

McCormick  pulled  a  dirty  note  out  of  his  pocket 
and  laid  it  on  the  table.  We  read  it  eagerly: 

Hello,  Chief!  Haven't  found  the  firebug  yet,  have  you? 
You  will  know  who  he  is  only  when  I  am  dead  and  the 
fires  stop.  I  don't  suppose  you  even  realise  that  the  firebug 
talks  with  you  almost  every  day  about  catching  the  firebug. 
That's  me.  I  am  the  real  firebug,  that  is  writing  this  letter. 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  why  I  am  starting  these  fires.  There's 
money  in  it— an  easy  living.  They  never  caught  me  in 
Chicago  or  anywhere,  so  you  might  as  well  quit  looking  for 
me  and  take  your  medicine. 

A.  SPARK. 

"  Humph!  "  ejaculated  Kennedy,  "  he  has  a  sense 
of  humour,  anyhow — A.  Spark !  " 

"  Queer  sense  of  humour,"  growled  McCormick, 
gritting  his  teeth.  "Here's  another  I  got  to-day: 

Say,  Chief:  We  are  going  to  get  busy  again  and  fire  a  big 
department-store  next.  How  does  that  suit  Your  Majesty? 
Wait  till  the  fun  begins  when  the  firebug  gets  to  work 
again. 

A.  SPARK. 

"  Well,  sir,  when  I  got  that  letter,"  cried  McCor- 
mick, "  I  was  almost  ready  to  ring  in  a  double-nine 


98  THE  POISONED  PEN 

alarm  at  once — they  have  me  that  bluffed  out.  But 
I  said  to  myself,  '  There's  only  one  thing  to  do — 
see  this  man  Kennedy.'  So  here  I  am.  You  see 
what  I  am  driving  at?  I  believe  that  firebug  is 
an  artist  at  the  thing,  does  it  for  the  mere  fun  of 
it  and  the  ready  money  in  it.  But  more  than  that, 
there  must  be  some  one  back  of  him.  Who  is  the 
man  higher  up — we  must  catch  him.  See?  " 

"  A  big  department-store,"  mused  Kennedy. 
"  That's  definite — there  are  only  a  score  or  so  of 
them,  and  the  Stacey  interests  control  several. 
Mac,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  Let  me  sit  up  with 
you  to-night  at  headquarters  until  we  get  an  alarm. 
By  George,  I'll  see  this  case  through  to  a  finish!  " 

The  fire  marshal  leaped  to  his  feet  and  bounded 
over  to  where  Kennedy  was  seated.  With  one  hand 
on  Craig's  shoulder  and  the  other  grasping  Craig's 
hand,  he  started  to  speak,  but  his  voice  choked. 

"  Thanks,"  he  blurted  out  huskily  at  last.  "  My 
reputation  in  the  department  is  at  stake,  my  pro- 
motion, my  position  itself,  my — my  family — er — 
er » 

"  Not  a  word,  sir,"  said  Kennedy,  his  features 
working  sympathetically.  "  To-night  at  eight  I  will 
go  on  watch  with  you.  By  the  way,  leave  me  those 
A.  Spark  notes." 

McCormick  had  so  far  regained  his  composure 
as  to  say  a  hearty  farewell.  He  left  the  room  as 
if  ten  years  had  been  lifted  off  his  shoulders.  A 
moment  later  he  stuck  his  head  in  the  door  again. 
"  I'll  have  one  of  the  Department  machines  call  for 
you,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 


THE  FIREBUG  99 

After  the  marshal  had  gone,  we  sat  for  several 
minutes  in  silence.  Kennedy  was  reading  and  re- 
reading the  notes,  scowling  to  himself  as  if  they 
presented  a  particularly  perplexing  problem.  I  said 
nothing,  though  my  mind  was  teeming  with  specu- 
lations. At  length  he  placed  the  notes  very  de- 
cisively on  the  table  and  snapped  out  the  remark, 
1  Yes,  it  must  be  so." 

"  What?  "  I  queried,  still  drumming  away  at  my 
typewriter,  copying  the  list  of  incendiary  fires  against 
the  moment  when  the  case  should  be  complete  and 
the  story  "  released  for  publication,"  as  it  were. 

"  This  note,"  he  explained,  picking  up  the  first 
one  and  speaking  slowly,  "  was  written  by  a  woman." 

I  swung  around  in  my  chair  quickly.  "  Get  out !  " 
I  exclaimed  sceptically.  "  No  woman  ever  used 
such  phrases." 

"  I  didn't  say  composed  by  a  woman — I  said 
written  by  a  woman,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh,"  I  said,  rather  chagrined. 

"  It  is  possible  to  determine  sex  from  handwrit- 
ing in  perhaps  eighty  cases  out  of  a  hundred,"  Ken- 
nedy went  on,  enjoying  my  discomfiture.  "  Once  I 
examined  several  hundred  specimens  of  writing  to 
decide  that  point  to  my  satisfaction.  Just  to  test 
my  conclusions  I  submitted  the  specimens  to  two 
professional  graphologists.  I  found  that  our  results 
were  slightly  different,  but  I  averaged  the  thing  up 
to  four  cases  out  of  five  correct.  The  so-called  sex 
signs  are  found  to  be  largely  influenced  by  the 
amount  of  writing  done,  by  age,  and  to  a  certain 
extent  by  practice  and  professional  requirements,  as 


ioo  THE  POISONED  PEN 

in  the  conventional  writing  of  teachers  and  the  rapid 
hand  of  bookkeepers.  Now  in  this  case  the  person 
who  wrote  the  first  note  was  only  an  indifferent 
writer.  Therefore  the  sex  signs  are  pretty  likely 
to  be  accurate.  Yes,  I'm  ready  to  go  on  the  stand 
and  swear  that  this  note  was  written  by  a  woman 
and  the  second  by  a  man." 

4  Then  there's  a  woman  in  the  case,  and  she  wrote 
the  first  note  for  the  firebug — is  that  what  you 
mean?  "  I  asked. 

"  Exactly.  There  nearly  always  is  a  woman  in 
the  case,  somehow  or  other.  This  woman  is  closely 
connected  with  the  firebug.  As  for  the  firebug,  who- 
ever it  may  be,  he  performs  his  crimes  with  cold 
premeditation  and,  as  De  Quincey  said,  in  a  spirit 
of  pure  artistry.  The  lust  of  fire  propels  him,  and 
he  uses  his  art  to  secure  wealth.  The  man  may  be 
a  tool  in  the  hands  of  others,  however.  It's  unsafe 
to  generalise  on  the  meagre  facts  we  now  have.  Oh, 
well,  there  is  nothing  we  can  do  just  yet.  Let's 
take  a  walk,  get  an  early  dinner,  and  be  back  here 
before  the  automobile  arrives." 

Not  a  word  more  did  Kennedy  say  about  the  case 
during  our  stroll  or  even  on  the  way  downtown  to 
fire  headquarters. 

We  found  McCormick  anxiously  waiting  for  us. 
High  up  in  the  sandstone  tower  at  headquarters,  we 
sat  with  him  in  the  maze  of  delicate  machinery 
with  which  the  fire  game  is  played  in  New  York. 
In  great  glass  cases  were  glistening  brass  and  nickel 
machines  with  discs  and  levers  and  bells,  tickers, 
sheets  of  paper,  and  annunciators  without  number. 


THE  FIREBUG  101 

This  was  the  fire-alarm  telegraph,  the  "  roulette- 
wheel  of  the  fire  demon,"  as  some  one  has  aptly 
called  it. 

"  All  the  alarms  for  fire  from  all  the  boroughs, 
both  from  the  regular  alarm-boxes  and  the  auxiliary 
systems,  come  here  first  over  the  network  of  three 
thousand  miles  or  more  of  wire  nerves  that  stretch 
out  through  the  city,"  McCormick  was  explaining 
to  us. 

A  buzzer  hissed. 

"  Here's  an  alarm  now,"  he  exclaimed,  all  atten- 
tion. 

'  Three,"  "  six,"  "  seven,"  the  numbers  appeared 
on  the  annunciator.  The  clerks  in  the  office  moved 
as  if  they  were  part  of  the  mechanism.  Twice  the 
alarm  was  repeated,  being  sent  out  all  over  the 
city.  McCormick  relapsed  from  his  air  of  atten- 
tion. 

'*  That  alarm  was  not  in  the  shopping  district," 
he  explained,  much  relieved.  "  Now  the  fire-houses 
in  the  particular  district  where  that  fire  is  have 
received  the  alarm  instantly.  Four  engines,  two 
hook-and-ladders,  a  water-tower,  the  battalion  chief, 
and  a  deputy  are  hurrying  to  that  fire.  Hello,  here 
comes  another." 

Again  the  buzzer  sounded.  "  One,"  "  four," 
"  five  "  showed  in  the  annunciator. 

Even  before  the  clerks  could  respond,  McCor- 
mick had  dragged  us  to  the  door.  In  another  in- 
stant we  were  wildly  speeding  uptown,  the  bell  on 
the  front  of  the  automobile  clanging  like  a  fire- 
engine,  the  siren  horn  going  continuously,  the  engine 


102  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  the  machine  throbbing  with  energy  until  the  water 
boiled  in  the  radiator. 

"  Let  her  out,  Frank,"  called  McCormick  to  his 
chauffeur,  as  we  rounded  into  a  broad  and  now 
almost  deserted  thoroughfare. 

Like  a  red  streak  in  the  night  we  flew  up  that 
avenue,  turned  into  Fourteenth  Street  on  two  wheels, 
and  at  last  were  on  Sixth  Avenue.  With  a  jerk 
and  a  skid  we  stopped.  There  were  the  engines, 
the  hose-carts,  the  hook-and-ladders,  the  salvage 
corps,  the  police  establishing  fire  lines — everything. 
But  where  was  the  fire? 

The  crowd  indicated  where  it  ought  to  be — it 
was  Stacey's.  Firemen  and  policemen  were  enter- 
ing the  huge  building.  McCormick  shouldered  in 
after  them,  and  we  followed. 

"Who  turned  in  the  alarm?"  he  asked  as  we 
mounted  the  stairs  with  the  others. 

"  I  did,"  replied  a  night  watchman  on  the  third 
landing.  "  Saw  a  light  in  the  office  on  the  third 
floor  back — something  blazing.  But  it  seems  to  be 
out  now." 

We  had  at  last  come  to  the  office.  It  was  dark 
and  deserted,  yet  with  the  lanterns  we  could  see  the 
floor  of  the  largest  room  littered  with  torn  books 
and  ledgers. 

Kennedy  caught  his  foot  in  something.  It  was  a 
loose  wire  on  the  floor.  He  followed  it.  It  led 
to  an  electric-light  socket,  where  it  was  attached. 

"  Can't  you  turn  on  the  lights?  "  shouted  McCor- 
mick to  the  watchman. 

"  Not  here.     They're  turned  on  from  downstairs, 


THE  FIREBUG  103 

and  they're  off  for  the  night.  I'll  go  down  if  you 
want  me  to  and " 

"  No,"  roared  Kennedy.  "  Stay  where  you  are 
until  I  follow  the  wire  to  the  other  end." 

At  last  we  came  to  a  little  office  partitioned  off 
from  the  main  room.  Kennedy  carefully  opened 
the  door.  One  whiff  of  the  air  from  it  was  suffi- 
cient. He  banged  the  door  shut  again. 

"  Stand  back  with  those  lanterns,  boys,"  he 
ordered. 

I  sniffed,  expecting  to  smell  illuminating-gas.  In- 
stead, a  peculiar,  sweetish  odour  pervaded  the  air. 
For  a  moment  it  made  me  think  of  a  hospital 
operating-room. 

"  Ether,"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "  Stand  back 
farther  with  those  lights  and  hold  them  up  from 
the  floor." 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  to  hesitate  as  if  at  loss 
what  to  do  next.  Should  he  open  the  door  and 
let  this  highly  inflammable  gas  out  or  should  he 
wait  patiently  until  the  natural  ventilation  of  the 
little  office  had  dispelled  it? 

While  he  was  debating  he  happened  to  glance 
out  of  the  window  and  catch  sight  of  a  drug-store 
across  the  street. 

"  Walter,"  he  said  to  me,  "  hurry  across  there 
and  get  all  the  saltpeter  and  sulphur  the  man  has 
in  the  shop." 

I  lost  no  time  in  doing  so.  Kennedy  dumped 
the  two  chemicals  into  a  pan  in  the  middle  of  the 
main  office,  about  three-fifths  saltpeter  and  two-fifths 
sulphur,  I  should  say.  Then  he  lighted  it.  The 


104  THE  POISONED  PEN 

mass  burned  with  a  bright  flame  but  without  ex- 
plosion. We  could  smell  the  suffocating  fumes  from 
it,  and  we  retreated.  For  a  moment  or  two  we 
watched  it  curiously  at  a  distance. 

"  That's  very  good  extinguishing-powder,"  ex- 
plained Craig  as  we  sniffed  at  the  odour.  "  It 
yields  a  large  amount  of  carbon  dioxide  and  sulphur 
dioxide.  Now — before  it  gets  any  worse — I  guess 
it's  safe  to  open  the  door  and  let  the  ether  out. 
You  see  this  is  as  good  a  way  as  any  to  render  safe 
a  room  full  of  inflammable  vapour.  Come,  we'll 
wait  outside  the  main  office  for  a  few  minutes  until 
the  gases  mix." 

It  seemed  hours  before  Kennedy  deemed  it  safe 
to  enter  the  office  again  with  a  light.  When  we 
did  so,  we  made  a  rush  for  the  little  cubby-hole  of 
an  office  at  the  other  end.  On  the  floor  was  a  little 
can  of  ether,  evaporated  of  course,  and  beside  it 
a  small  apparatus  apparently  used  for  producing 
electric  sparks. 

"  So,  that's  how  he  does  it,"  mused  Kennedy, 
fingering  the  can  contemplatively.  "  He  lets  the 
ether  evaporate  in  a  room  for  a  while  and  then 
causes  an  explosion  from  a  safe  distance  with  this 
little  electric  spark.  There's  where  your  wire  comes 
in,  McCormick.  Say,  my  man,  you  can  switch  on 
the  lights  from  downstairs,  now." 

As  we  waited,  for  the  watchman  to  turn  on  the 
lights  I  exclaimed,  "  He  failed  this  time  because 
the  electricity  was  shut  off." 

"  Precisely,  Walter,"  assented  Kennedy. 

"  But  the  flames  which  the  night  watchman  saw, 


THE  FIREBUG  105 

what  of  them?"  put  in  McCormick,  considerably 
mystified.  "  He  must  have  seen  something." 

Just  then  the  lights  winked  up. 

"  Oh,  that  was  before  the  fellow  tried  to  touch 
off  the  ether  vapour,"  explained  Kennedy.  "  He 
had  to  make  sure  of  his  work  of  destruction  first — 
and,  judging  by  the  charred  papers  about,  he  did 
it  well.  See,  he  tore  leaves  from  the  ledgers  and 
lighted  them  on  the  floor.  There  was  an  object  in 
all  that.  What  was  it?  Hello!  Look  at  this 
mass  of  charred  paper  in  the  corner." 

He  bent  down  and  examined  it  carefully. 

"  Memoranda  of  some  kind,  I  guess.  I'll  save 
this  burnt  paper  and  look  it  over  later.  Don't  dis- 
turb it.  I'll  take  it  away  myself." 

Search  as  we  might,  we  could  find  no  other  trace 
of  the  firebug,  and  at  last  we  left.  Kennedy  carried 
the  charred  paper  carefully  in  a  large  hat-box. 

"  There'll  be  no  more  fires  to-night,  McCormick," 
he  said.  "  But  I'll  watch  with  you  every  night  until 
we  get  this  incendiary.  Meanwhile  I'll  see  what  I 
can  decipher,  if  anything,  in  this  burnt  paper." 

Next  day  McCormick  dropped  in  to  see  us  again. 
This  time  he  had  another  note,  a  disguised  scrawl 
which  read: 

Chief:  I'm  not  through.  Watch  me  get  another  store  yet. 
I  won't  fall  down  this  time. 

A.  SPARK. 

Craig  scowled  as  he  read  the  note  and  handed 
it  to  me.  "  The  man's  writing  this  time — like  the 
second  note,"  was  all  he  said.  "  McCormick,  since 


io6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

we  know  where  the  lightning  is  going  to  strike,  don't 
you  think  it  would  be  wiser  to  make  our  headquarters 
in  one  of  the  engine-houses  in  that  district?  " 

The  fire  marshal  agreed,  and  that  night  saw  us 
watching  at  the  fire-house  nearest  the  department- 
store  region. 

Kennedy  and  I  were  assigned  to  places  on  the 
hose-cart  and  engine,  respectively,  Kennedy  being 
in  the  hose-cart  so  that  he  could  be  with  McCormick. 
We  were  taught  to  descend  one  of  the  four  brass 
poles  hand  under  elbow,  from  the  dormitory  on  the 
second  floor.  They  showed  us  how  to  jump  into 
the  "  turn-outs  " — a  pair  of  trousers  opened  out 
over  the  high  top  boots.  We  were  given  helmets 
which  we  placed  in  regulation  fashion  on  our  rubber 
coats,  turned  inside  out  with  the  right  armhole  up. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  Craig  and  I  joined  the  Fire 
Department  temporarily.  It  was  a  novel  experience 
for  us  both. 

"  Now,  Walter,"  said  Kennedy,  "  as  long  as  we 
have  gone  so  far,  we'll  '  roll '  to  every  fire,  just 
like  the  regulars.  We  won't  take  any  chances  of 
missing  the  firebug  at  any  time  of  night  or  day." 

It  proved  to  be  a  remarkably  quiet  evening  with 
only  one  little  blaze  in  a  candy-shop  on  Seventh 
Avenue.  Most  of  the  time  we  sat  around  trying 
to  draw  the  men  out  about  their  thrilling  experiences 
at  fires.  But  if  there  is  one  thing  the  fireman  doesn't 
know  it  is  the  English  language  when  talking  about 
himself.  It  was  quite  late  when  we  turned  into  the 
neat  white  cots  upstairs. 

We  had  scarcely  fallen  into  a  half  doze  in  our 


THE  FIREBUG  107 

strange  surroundings  when  the  gong  downstairs 
sounded.  It  was  our  signal. 

We  could  hear  the  rapid  clatter  of  the  horses' 
hoofs  as  they  were  automatically  released  from  their 
stalls  and  the  collars  and  harness  mechanically  locked 
about  them.  All  was  stir,  and  motion,  and  shouts. 
Craig  and  I  had  bounded  awkwardly  into  our  para- 
phernalia at  the  first  sound.  We  slid  ungracefully 
down  the  pole  and  were  pushed  and  shoved  into  our 
places,  for  scientific  management  in  a  New  York 
fire-house  has  reached  one  hundred  per  cent,  effi- 
ciency, and  we  were  not  to  be  allowed  to  delay  the 
game. 

The  oil-torch  had  been  applied  to  the  engine,  and 
it  rolled  forth,  belching  flames.  I  was  hanging  on 
for  dear  life,  now  and  then  catching  sight  of  the 
driver  urging  his  plunging  horses  onward  like  a 
charioteer  in  a  modern  Ben  Hur  race.  The  tender 
with  Craig  and  McCormick  was  lost  in  the  clouds 
of  smoke  and  sparks  that  trailed  behind  us.  On 
we  dashed  until  we  turned  into  Sixth  Avenue.  The 
glare  of  the  sky  told  us  that  this  time  the  firebug 
had  made  good. 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  it  isn't  the  Stacey  store  again," 
shouted  the  man  next  me  on  the  engine  as  the  horses 
lunged  up  the  avenue  and  stopped  at  the  allotted 
hydrant.  It  was  like  a  war  game.  Every  move  had 
been  planned  out  by  the  fire-strategists,  even  down 
to  the  hydrants  that  the  engines  should  take  at  a 
given  fire. 

Already  several  floors  were  aflame,  the  windows 
glowing  like  open-hearth  furnaces,  the  glass  bulging 


io8  THE  POISONED  PEN 

and  cracking  and  the  flames  licking  upward  and 
shooting  out  in  long  streamers.  The  hose  was 
coupled  up  in  an  instant,  the  water  turned  on,  and 
the  limp  rubber  and  canvas  became  as  rigid  as  a 
post  with  the  high  pressure  of  the  water  being  forced 
through  it.  Company  after  company  dashed  into 
the  blazing  "  fireproof "  building,  urged  by  the 
hoarse  profanity  of  the  chief. 

Twenty  or  thirty  men  must  have  disappeared  into 
the  stifle  from  which  the  police  retreated.  There 
was  no  haste,  no  hesitation.  Everything  moved  as 
smoothly  as  if  by  clockwork.  Yet  we  could  not  see 
one  of  the  men  who  had  disappeared  into  the  burn- 
ing building.  They  had  been  swallowed  up,  as  it 
were.  For  that  is  the  way  with  the  New  York 
firemen.  They  go  straight  to  the  heart  of  the  fire. 
Now  and  then  a  stream  of  a  hose  spat  out  of  a 
window,  showing  that  the  men  were  still  alive  and 
working.  About  the  ground  floors  the  red-helmeted 
salvage  corps  were  busy  covering  up  what  they  could 
of  the  goods  with  rubber  sheets  to  protect  them  from 
water.  Doctors  with  black  bags  and  white  trousers 
were  working  over  the  injured.  Kennedy  and  I 
were  busy  about  the  engine,  and  there  was  plenty 
for  us  to  do. 

Above  the  shrill  whistle  for  more  coal  I  heard  a 
voice  shout,  "  Began  with  an  explosion — it's  the  fire- 
bug, all  right."  I  looked  up.  It  was  McCormick, 
dripping  and  grimy,  in  a  high  state  of  excitement, 
talking  to  Kennedy. 

I  had  been  so  busy  trying  to  make  myself  believe 
that  I  was  really  of  some  assistance  about  the  engine 


THE  FIREBUG  109 

that  I  had  not  taken  time  to  watch  the  fire  itself. 
It  was  now  under  control.  The  sharp  and  scientific 
attack  had  nipped  what  might  have  been  one  of 
New  York's  historic  conflagrations. 

"  Are  you  game  to  go  inside?  "  I  heard  McCor- 
mick  ask. 

For  answer  Kennedy  simply  nodded.  As  for  me, 
where  Craig  went  I  went. 

The  three  of  us  drove  through  the  scorching  door, 
past  twisted  masses  of  iron  still  glowing  dull  red 
in  the  smoke  and  steam,  while  the  water  hissed  and 
spattered  and  slopped.  The  smoke  was  still  suffo- 
cating, and  every  once  in  a  while  we  were  forced 
to  find  air  close  to  the  floor  and  near  the  wall.  My 
hands  and  arms  and  legs  felt  like  lead,  yet  on  we 
drove. 

Coughing  and  choking,  we  followed  McCormick 
to  what  had  been  the  heart  of  the  fire,  the  office. 
Men  with  picks  and  axes  and  all  manner  of  cun- 
ningly devised  instruments  were  hacking  and  tearing 
at  the  walls  and  woodwork,  putting  out  the  last 
smouldering  sparks  while  a  thousand  gallons  of 
water  were  pouring  in  at  various  parts  of  the  build- 
ing where  the  fire  still  showed  spirit. 

There  on  the  floor  of  the  office  lay  a  charred, 
shapeless,  unrecognisable  mass.  What  was  that 
gruesome  odour  in  the  room?  Burned  human  flesh? 
I  recoiled  from  what  had  once  been  the  form  of  a 
woman. 

McCormick  uttered  a  cry,  and  as  I  turned  my 
eyes  away,  I  saw  him  holding  a  wire  with  the  in- 
sulation burned  off.  He  had  picked  it  up  from  the 


no  THE  POISONED  PEN 

wreckage  of  the  floor.  It  led  to  a  bent  and  black- 
ened can — that  had  once  been  a  can  of  ether. 

My  mind  worked  rapidly,  but  McCormick  blurted 
out  the  words  before  I  could  form  them,  "  Caught 
in  her  own  trap  at  last!  " 

Kennedy  said  nothing,  but  as  one  of  the  firemen 
roughly  but  reverently  covered  the  remains  with  a 
rubber  sheet,  he  stooped  down  and  withdrew  from 
the  breast  of  the  woman  a  long  letter-file.  "  Come, 
let  us  go,"  he  said. 

Back  in  our  apartment  again  we  bathed  our  rack- 
ing heads,  gargled  our  parched  throats,  and  washed 
out  our  bloodshot  eyes,  in  silence.  The  whole  ad- 
ventiye,  though  still  fresh  and  vivid  in  my  mind, 
seemed  unreal,  like  a  dream.  The  choking  air,  the 
hissing  steam,  the  ghastly  object  under  the  tarpaulin 
— what  did  it  all  mean?  Who  was  she?  I  strove 
to  reason  it  out,  but  could  find  no  answer. 

It  was  nearly  dawn  when  the  door  opened  and 
McCormick  came  in  and  dropped  wearily  into  a 
chair.  "  Do  you  know  who  that  woman  was?  "  he 
gasped.  "  It  was  Miss  Wend  herself." 

;<  Who  identified  her?  "  asked  Kennedy  calmly. 

"  Oh,  several  people.  Stacey  recognised  her  at 
once.  Then  Hartstein,  the  adjuster  for  the  insured, 
and  Lazard,  the  adjuster  for  the  company,  both  o£ 
whom  had  had  more  or  less  to  do  with  her  in  con- 
nection with  settling  up  for  other  fires,  recognised 
her.  She  was  a  very  clever  woman,  was  Miss 
Wend,  and  a  very  important  cog  in  the  Stacey  en- 
terprises. And  to  think  she  was  the  firebug,  after 
all.  I  can  hardly  believe  it." 


Ill 

"Why  believe  it?"  asked  Kennedy  quietly. 

"  Why  believe  it?  "  echoed  McCormick.  "  Stacey 
has  found  shortages  in  his  books  due  to  the  opera- 
tion of  her  departments.  The  bookkeeper  who  had 
charge  of  the  accounts  in  her  department,  a  man 
named  Douglas,  is  missing.  She  must  have  tried 
to  cover  up  her  operations  by  fires  and  juggling  the 
accounts.  Failing  in  that  she  tried  to  destroy 
Stacey's  store  itself,  twice.  She  was  one  of  the 
few  that  could  get  into  the  office  unobserved.  Oh, 
it's  a  clear  case  now.  To  my  mind,  the  heavy 
vapours  of  ether — they  are  heavier  than  air,  you 
know — must  have  escaped  along  the  surface  of  the 
floor  last  night  and  become  ignited  at  a  considerable 
distance  from  where  she  expected.  She  was  caught 
in  a  back-draught,  or  something  of  the  sort.  Well, 
thank  God,  we've  seen  the  last  of  this  firebug  busi- 
ness. What's  that?" 

Kennedy  had  laid  the  letter-file  on  the  table. 
"  Nothing.  Only  I  found  this  embedded  in  Miss 
Wend's  breast  right  over  her  heart." 

"Then  she  was  murdered?"  exclaimed  McCor- 
mick. 

"  We  haven't  come  to  the  end  of  this  case  yet," 
replied  Craig  evasively.  "  On  the  contrary,  we 
have  just  got  our  first  good  clue.  No,  McCormick, 
your  theory  will  not  hold  water.  The  real  point 
is  to  find  this  missing  bookkeeper  at  any  cost.  You 
must  persuade  him  to  confess  what  he  knows.  Offer 
him  immunity — he  was  only  a  pawn  in  the  hands 
of  those  higher  up." 

McCormick  was  not  hard  to  convince.     Tired 


ii2  THE  POISONED  PEN 

as  he  was,  he  grabbed  up  his  hat  and  started  off 
to  put  the  final  machinery  in  motion  to  wind  up  the 
long  chase  for  the  firebug. 

"  I  must  get  a  couple  of  hours'  sleep,"  he  yawned 
as  he  left  us,  "  but  first  I  want  to  start  something 
toward  finding  Douglas.  I  shall  try  to  see  you  about 
noon." 

I  was  too  exhausted  to  go  to  the  office.  In  fact, 
I  doubt  if  I  could  have  written  a  line.  But  I  tele- 
phoned in  a  story  of  personal  experiences  at  the 
Stacey  fire  and  told  them  they  could  fix  it  up  as  they 
chose  and  even  sign  my  name  to  it. 

About  noon  McCormick  came  in  again,  looking 
as  fresh  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  He  was  used 
to  it. 

"  I  know  where  Douglas  is,"  he  announced  breath- 
lessly. 

"  Fine,"  said  Kennedy,  "  and  can  you  produce 
him  at  any  time  when  it  is  necessary?  " 

"  Let  me  tell  you  what  I  have  done.  I  went 
down  to  the  district  attorney  from  here — routed 
him  out  of  bed.  He  has  promised  to  turn  loose 
his  accountants  to  audit  the  reports  of  the  adjusters, 
Hartstein  and  Lazard,  as  well  as  to  make  a  cursory 
examination  of  what  Stacey  books  there  are  left. 
He  says  he  will  have  a  preliminary  report  ready 
to-night,  but  the  detailed  report  will  take  days,  oif 
course. 

"  It's  the  Douglas  problem  that  is  difficult,  though. 
I  haven't  seen  him,  but  one  of  the  central-office 
men,  by  shadowing  his  wife,  has  found  that  he  is 
in  hiding  down  on  the  East  Side.  He's  safe  there; 


THE  FIREBUG  113 

he  can't  make  a  move  to  get  away  without  being 
arrested.  The  trouble  is  that  if  I  arrest  him,  the 
people  higher  up  will  know  it  and  will  escape  before 
I  can  get  his  confession  and  the  warrants.  I'd 
much  rather  have  the  whole  thing  done  at  once. 
Isn't  there  some  way  we  can  get  the  whole  Stacey 
crowd  together,  make  the  arrest  of  Douglas  and 
nab  the  guilty  ones  in  the  case,  all  together  without 
giving  them  a  chance  to  escape  or  to  shield  the  real 
firebug?  " 

Kennedy  thought  a  moment.  "  Yes,"  he  an- 
swered slowly.  "  There  is.  If  you  can  get  them 
all  together  at  my  laboratory  to-night  at,  say,  eight 
o'clock,  I'll  give  you  two  clear  hours  to  make  the 
arrest  of  Douglas,  get  the  confession,  and  swear 
out  the  warrants.  All  that  you'll  need  to  do  is  to 
let  me  talk  a  few  minutes  this  afternoon  with  the 
judge  who  will  sit  in  the  night  court  to-night.  I 
shall  install  a  little  machine  on  his  desk  in  the  court, 
and  we'll  catch  the  real  criminal — he'll  never  get  a 
chance  to  cross  the  state  line  or  disappear  in  any 
way.  You  see,  my  laboratory  will  be  neutral 
ground.  I  think  you  can  get  them  to  come,  inas- 
much as  they  know  the  bookkeeper  is  safe  and  that 
dead  women  tell  no  tales." 

When  next  I  saw  Kennedy  it  was  late  in  the  after- 
noon, in  the  laboratory.  He  was  arranging  some- 
thing in  the  top  drawer  of  a  flat-top  desk.  It 
seemed  to  be  two  instruments  composed  of  many 
levers  and  discs  and  magnets,  each  instrument  with 
a  roll  of  paper  about  five  inches  wide.  On  one  was 
a  sort  of  stylus  with  two  silk  cords  attached  at  right 


ii4  THE  POISONED  PEN 

angles  to  each  other  near  the  point.  On  the  other 
was  a  capillary  glass  tube  at  the  junction  of  two 
aluminum  arms,  also  at  right  angles  to  each  other. 

It  was  quite  like  old  times  to  see  Kennedy  at  work 
in  his  laboratory  preparing  for  a  "  seance."  He 
said  nothing  as  I  watched  him  curiously,  and  I  asked 
nothing.  Two  sets  of  wires  were  attached  to  each 
of  the  instruments,  and  these  he  carefully  concealed 
and  led  out  the  window.  Then  he  arranged  the 
chairs  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  desk  from  his 
own. 

"  Walter,"  he  said,  "  when  our  guests  begin  to 
arrive  I  want  you  to  be  master  of  ceremonies. 
Simply  keep  them  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  desk 
from  me.  Don't  let  them  move  their  chairs  around 
to  the  right  or  left.  And,  above  all,  leave  the  doors 
open.  I  don't  want  any  one  to  be  suspicious  or  to 
feel  that  he  is  shut  in  in  any  way.  Create  the  im- 
pression that  they  are  free  to  go  and  come  when 
they  please." 

Stacey  arrived  first  in  a  limousine  which  he  left 
standing  at  the  door  of  the  Chemistry  Building. 
Bloom  and  Warren  came  together  in  the  latter's 
car.  Lazard  came  in  a  taxicab  which  he  dismissed, 
and  Hartstein  came  up  by  the  subway,  being  the 
last  to  arrive.  Every  one  seemed  to  be  in  good 
humour. 

I  seated  them  as  Kennedy  had  directed.  Ken- 
nedy pulled  out  the  extension  on  the  left  of  his 
desk  and  leaned  his  elbow  on  it  as  he  began  to 
apologise  for  taking  up  their  time  at  such  a  critical 
moment.  As  near  as  I  could  make  out,  he  had 


THE  FIREBUG  115 

quietly  pulled  out  the  top  drawer  of  his  desk  on 
the  right,  the  drawer  in  which  I  had  seen  him  place 
the  complicated  apparatus.  But  as  nothing  further 
happened  I  almost  forgot  about  it  in  listening  to 
him.  He  began  by  referring  to  the  burned  papers 
he  had  found  in  the  office. 

"  It  is  sometimes  possible,"  he  continued,  "  to 
decipher  writing  on  burned  papers  if  one  is  careful. 
The  processes  of  colour  photography  have  recently 
been  applied  to  obtain  a  legible  photograph  of  the 
writing  on  burned  manuscripts  which  are  unreadable 
by  any  other  known  means.  As  long  as  the  sheet 
has  not  been  entirely  disintegrated  positive  results 
can  be  obtained  every  time.  The  charred  manu- 
script is  carefully  arranged  in  as  near  its  original 
shape  as  possible,  on  a  sheet  of  glass  and  covered 
with  a  drying  varnish,  after  which  it  is  backed  by 
another  sheet  of  glass. 

"  By  using  carefully  selected  colour  screens  and 
orthochromatic  plates  a  perfectly  legible  photograph 
of  the  writing  may  be  taken,  although  there  may 
be  no  marks  on  the  charred  remains  that  are  visible 
to  the  eye.  This  is  the  only  known  method  in 
many  cases.  I  have  here  some  burned  fragments 
of  paper  which  I  gathered  up  after  the  first  attempt 
to  fire  your  store,  Mr.  Stacey." 

Stacey  coughed  in  acknowledgment.  As  for 
Craig,  he  did  not  mince  matters  in  telling  what  he 
had  found. 

"  Some  were  notes  given  in  favour  of  Rebecca 
Wend  and  signed  by  Joseph  Stacey,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  They  represent  a  large  sum  of  money  in  the 


n6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

aggregate.  Others  were  memoranda  of  Miss 
Wend's,  and  still  others  were  autograph  letters  to 
Miss  Wend  of  a  very  incriminating  nature  in  con- 
nection with  the  fires  by  another  person." 

Here  he  laid  the  "  A.  Spark  "  letters  on  the  desk 
before  him.  "  Now,"  he  added  "  some  one,  in  a 
spirit  of  bravado,  sent  these  notes  to  the  fire  mar- 
shal at  various  times.  Curiously  enough,  I  find 
that  the  handwriting  of  the  first  one  bears  a  peculiar 
resemblance  to  that  of  Miss  Wend,  while  the  second 
and  third,  though  disguised  also,  greatly  suggest 
the  handwriting  of  Miss  Wend's  correspondent." 

No  one  moved.  But  I  sat  aghast.  She  had  been 
a  part  of  the  conspiracy,  after  all,  not  a  pawn. 
Had  they  played  fair? 

11  Taking  up  next  the  remarkable  succession  of 
fires,"  resumed  Kennedy,  "  this  case  presents  some 
unique  features.  In  short,  it  is  a  clear  case  of 
what  is  known  as  a  *  firebug  trust.'  Now  just  what 
is  a  firebug  trust?  Well,  it  is,  as  near  as  I  can 
make  out,  a  combination  of  dishonest  merchants  and 
insurance  adjusters  engaged  in  the  business  of  de- 
liberately setting  fires  for  profit.  These  arson  trusts 
are  not  the  ordinary  kind  of  firebugs  whom  the 
firemen  plentifully  damn  in  the  fixed  belief  that 
one-fourth  of  all  fires  are  kindled  by  incendiaries. 
Such  '  trusts  '  exist  all  over  the  country.  They  have 
operated  in  Chicago,  where  they  are  said  to  have 
made  seven  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  in 
one  year.  Another  group  is  said  to  have  its  head- 
quarters in  Kansas  City.  Others  have  worked  in 
St.  Louis,  Pittsburgh,  Cleveland,  and  Buffalo.  The 


THE  FIREBUG  117 

fire  marshals  of  Illinois,  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and 
Ohio  have  investigated  their  work.  But  until  re- 
cently New  York  has  been  singularly  free  from 
the  organised  work  of  this  sort.  Of  course  we 
have  plenty  of  firebugs  and  pyromaniacs  in  a  small 
way,  but  the  big  conspiracy  has  never  come  to  my 
personal  attention  before. 

"  Now,  the  Jones-Green  fire,  the  Quadrangle  fire, 
the  Slawson  Building  fire,  and  the  rest,  have  all 
been  set  for  one  purpose — to  collect  insurance.  I 
may  as  well  say  right  here  that  some  people  are  in 
bad  in  this  case,  but  that  others  are  in  worse.  Miss 
Wend  was  originally  a  party  to  the  scheme.  Only 
the  trouble  with  Miss  Wend  was  that  she  was  too 
shrewd  to  be  fooled.  She  insisted  that  she  have 
her  full  share  of  the  pickings.  In  that  case  it  seems 
to  have  been  the  whole  field  against  Miss  Wend, 
not  a  very  gallant  thing,  nor  yet  according  to  the 
adage  about  honour  among  thieves. 

"  A  certain  person  whose  name  I  am  frank  to 
say  I  do  not  know — yet — conceived  the  idea  of  de- 
stroying the  obligations  of  the  Stacey  companies  to 
Miss  Wend  as  well  as  the  incriminating  evidence 
which  she  held  of  the  '  firebug  trust,'  of  which  she 
was  a  member  up  to  this  time.  The  plan  only  partly 
succeeded.  The  chief  coup,  which  was  to  destroy 
the  Stacey  store  into  the  bargain,  miscarried. 

"What  was  the  result?  Miss  Wend,  who  had 
been  hand  in  glove  with  the  '  trust,'  was  now  a 
bitter  enemy,  perhaps  would  turn  state's  evidence. 
What  more  natural  than  to  complete  the  conspiracy 
by  carrying  out  the  coup  and  at  the  same  time  get 


n  8  THE  POISONED  PEN 

rid  of  the  dangerous  enemy  of  the  conspirators? 
I  believe  that  Miss  Wend  was  lured  under  some 
pretext  or  other  to  the  Stacey  store  on  the  night 
of  the  big  fire.  The  person  who  wrote  the  second 
and  third  '  A.  Spark '  letters  did  it.  She  was  mur- 
dered with  this  deadly  instrument " — Craig  laid  the 
letter-file  on  the  table — "  and  it  was  planned  to 
throw  the  entire  burden  of  suspicion  on  her  by 
asserting  that  there  was  a  shortage  in  the  books 
of  her  department." 

"  Pooh !  "  exclaimed  Stacey,  smoking  compla- 
cently at  his  cigar.  "  We  have  been  victimised  in 
those  fires  by  people  who  have  grudges  against  us, 
labour  unions  and  others.  This  talk  of  an  arson 
trust  is  bosh — yellow  journalism.  More  than  that, 
we  have  been  systematically  robbed  by  a  trusted  head 
of  a  department,  and  the  fire  at  Stacey's  was  the 
way  the  thief  took  to  cover — er — her  stealings.  At 
the  proper  time  we  shall  produce  the  bookkeeper 
Douglas  and  prove  it." 

Kennedy  fumbled  in  the  drawer  of  the  desk,  then 
drew  forth  a  long  strip  of  paper  covered  with 
figures.  "  All  the  Stacey  companies,"  he  said, 
"  have  been  suffering  from  the  depression  that  ex- 
ists in  the  trade  at  present.  They  are  insolvent. 
Glance  over  that,  Stacey.  It  is  a  summary  of  the 
preliminary  report  of  the  accountants  of  the  district 
attorney  who  have  been  going  over  your  books 
to-day." 

Stacey  gasped.  "  How  did  you  get  it?  The  re- 
port was  not  to  be  ready  until  nine  o'clock,  and 
it  is  scarcely  a  quarter  past  now." 


THE  FIREBUG  119 

"  Never  mind  how  I  got  it.  Go  over  it  with 
the  adjusters,  anybody.  I  think  you  will  find  that 
there  was  no  shortage  in  Miss  Wend's  department, 
that  you  were  losing  money,  that  you  were  in  debt 
to  Miss  Wend,  and  that  she  would  have  received 
the  lion's  share  of  the  proceeds  of  the  insur- 
ance if  the  firebug  scheme  had  turned  out  as 
planned." 

"  We  absolutely  repudiate  these  figures  as  fiction," 
said  Stacey,  angrily  turning  toward  Kennedy  after 
a  hurried  consultation. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you'll  appreciate  this,"  replied 
Craig,  pulling  another  piece  of  paper  from  the  desk. 
"  I'll  read  it.  '  Henry  Douglas,  being  duly  sworn, 
deposes  and  says  that  one  ' — we'll  call  him  '  Blank  ' 
for  the  present — '  with  force  and  arms  did  feloni- 
ously, wilfully,  and  intentionally  kill  Rebecca  Wend 
whilst  said  Blank  was  wilfully  burning  and  sejtting 
on  fire '  " 

"  One  moment,"  interrupted  Stacey.  "  Let  me 
see  that  paper." 

Kennedy  laid  it  down  so  that  only  the  signature 
showed.  The  name  was  signed  in  a  full  round 
hand,  "  Henry  Douglas." 

"  It's  a  forgery,"  cried  Stacey  in  rage.  "  Not 
an  hour  before  I  came  into  this  place  I  saw  Henry 
Douglas.  He  had  signed  no  such  paper  then.  He 
could  not  have  signed  it  since,  and  you  could  not 
have  received  it.  I  brand  that  document  as  a 
forgery." 

Kennedy  stood  up  and  reached  down  into  the 
open  drawer  on  the  right  of  his  desk.  From  it 


120  THE  POISONED  PEN 

he  lifted  the  two  machines  I  had  seen  him  place 
there  early  in  the  evening. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said,  "  this  is  the  last  scene  of 
the  play  you  are  enacting.  You  see  here  on  the 
desk  an  instrument  that  was  invented  many  years 
ago,  but  has  only  recently  become  really  practical. 
It  is  the  telautograph — the  long-distance  writer.  In 
this  new  form  it  can  be  introduced  into  the  drawer 
of  a  desk  for  the  use  of  any  one  who  may  wish 
to  make  inquiries,  say,  of  clerks  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  a  caller.  It  makes  it  possible  to  write  a 
message  under  these  conditions  and  receive  an  an- 
swer concerning  the  personality  or  business  of  the 
individual  seated  at  one's  elbow  without  leaving  the 
desk  or  seeming  to  make  inquiries. 

"  With  an  ordinary  pencil  I  have  written  on  the 
paper  of  the  transmitter.  The  silk  cord  attached 
to  the  pencil  regulates  the  current  which  controls  a 
pencil  at  the  other  end  of  the  line.  The  receiving 
pencil  moves  simultaneously  with  my  pencil.  It  is 
the  principle  of  the  pantagraph  cut  in  half,  one  half 
here,  the  other  half  at  the  end  of  the  line,  two 
telephone  wires  in  this  case  connecting  the  halves. 

"  While  we  have  been  sitting  here  I  have  had 
my  right  hand  in  the  half-open  drawer  of  my  desk 
writing  with  this  pencil  notes  of  what  has  transpired 
in  this  room.  These  notes,  with  other  evidence, 
have  been  simultaneously  placed  before  Magistrate 
Brenner  in  the  night  court.  At  the  same  time,  on 
this  other,  the  receiving,  instrument  the  figures  of 
the  accountants  written  in  court  have  been  repro- 
duced here.  You  have  seen  them.  Meanwhile, 


THE  FIREBUG  121 

Douglas  was  arrested,  taken  before  the  magistrate, 
and  the  information  for  a  charge  of  murder  in  the 
first  degree  perpetrated  in  committing  arson  has  been 
obtained.  You  have  seen  it.  It  came  in  while 
you  were  reading  the  figures." 

The  conspirators  seemed  dazed. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Kennedy,  "  I  see  that  the 
pencil  of  the  receiving  instrument  is  writing  again. 
Let  us  see  what  it  is." 

We  bent  over.  The  writing  started:  "County 
of  New  York.  In  the  name  of  the  People  of  the 
State  of  New  York " 

Kennedy  did  not  wait  for  us  to  finish  reading. 
He  tore  the  writing  from  the  telautograph  and 
waved  it  over  his  head. 

"  It  is  a  warrant.  You  are  all  under  arrest  for 
arson.  But  you,  Samuel  Lazard,  are  also  under 
arrest  for  the  murder  of  Rebecca  Wend  and  six 
other  persons  in  fires  which  you  have  set.  You  are 
the  real  firebug,  the  tool  of  Joseph  Stacey,  perhaps, 
but  that  will  all  come  out  in  the  trial.  McCormick, 
McCormick,"  called  Craig,  "  it's  all  right.  I  have 
the  warrant.  Are  the  police  there?" 

There  was  no  answer. 

Lazard  and  Stacey  made  a  sudden  dash  for  the 
door,  and  in  an  instant  they  were  in  Stacey' s  waiting 
car.  The  chauffeur  took  off  the  brake  and  pulled 
the  lever.  Suddenly  Craig's  pistol  flashed,  and  the 
chauffeur's  arms  hung  limp  and  useless  on  the  steer- 
ing-wheel. 

As  McCormick  with  the  police  loomed  up,  a  mo- 
ment late,  out  of  the  darkness  and  after  a  short 


122  THE  POISONED  PEN" 

struggle  clapped  the  irons  on  Stacey  and  Lazard  in 
Stacey's  own  magnificently  upholstered  car,  I  re- 
marked reproachfully  to  Kennedy:  "  But,  Craig,  you 
have  shot  the  innocent  chauffeur.  Aren't  you  going 
to  attend  to  him?  " 

"  Oh,"  replied  Kennedy  nonchalantly,  "  don't 
worry  about  that.  They  were  only  rock-salt  bullets. 
They  didn't  penetrate  far.  They'll  sting  for  some 
time,  but  they're  antiseptic,  and  they'll  dissolve  and 
absorb  quickly." 


V 
THE  CONFIDENCE  KING 

"  SHAKE  hands  with  Mr.  Burke  of  the  secret  service, 
Professor  Kennedy." 

It  was  our  old  friend  First  Deputy  O'Connor 
who  thus  in  his  bluff  way  introduced  a  well-groomed 
and  prosperous-looking  man  whom  he  brought  up 
to  our  apartment  one  evening. 

The  formalities  were  quickly  over.  "  Mr.  Burke 
and  I  are  old  friends,"  explained  O'Connor.  ;'  We 
try  to  work  together  when  we  can,  and  very  often 
the  city  department  can  give  the  government  service 
a  lift,  and  then  again  it's  the  other  way — as  it  was 
in  the  trunk-murder  mystery.  Show  Professor  Ken- 
nedy the  '  queer,'  Tom." 

Burke  drew  a  wallet  out  of  his  pocket,  and  from 
it  slowly  and  deliberately  selected  a  crisp,  yellow- 
backed  hundred-dollar  bill.  He  laid  it  flat  on  the 
table  before  us.  Diagonally  across  its  face  from 
the  upper  left-  to  the  lower  right-hand  corner  ex- 
tended two  parallel  scorings  in  indelible  ink. 

Not  being  initiated  into  the  secrets  of  the  gentle 
art  of  "  shoving  the  queer,"  otherwise  known  as 
passing  counterfeit  money,  I  suppose  my  questioning 
look  betrayed  me. 

"  A  counterfeit,  Walter,"  explained  Kennedy. 
"  That's  what  they  do  with  bills  when  they  wish 

123 


I24  THE  POISONED  PEN 

to  preserve  them  as  records  in  the  secret  service 
and  yet  render  them  valueless." 

Without  a  word  Burke  handed  Kennedy  a  pocket 
magnifying-glass,  and  Kennedy  carefully  studied  the 
bill.  He  was  about  to  say  something  when  Burke 
opened  his  capacious  wallet  again  and  laid  down  a 
Bank  of  England  five-pound  note  which  had  been 
similarly  treated. 

Again  Kennedy  looked  through  the  glass  with 
growing  amazement  written  on  his  face,  but  before 
he  could  say  anything,  Burke  laid  down  an  express 
money-order  on  the  International  Express  Company. 

"  I  say,"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  putting  down  the 
glass,  "stop!  How  many  more  of  these  are 
there?" 

Burke  smiled.  "That's  all,"  he  replied,  "but 
it's  not  the  worst." 

"Not  the  worst?  Good  heavens,  man,  next 
you'll  tell  me  that  the  government  is  counterfeiting 
its  own  notes!  How  much  of  this  stuff  do  you 
suppose  has  been  put  into  circulation?  " 

Burke  chewed  a  pencil  thoughtfully,  jotted  down 
some  figures  on  a  piece  of  paper,  and  thought  some 
more'.  "  Of  course  I  can't  say  exactly,  but  froni 
hints  I  have  received  here  and  there  I  should  think 
that  a  safe  bet  would  be  that  some  one  has  cashed 
in  upward  of  half  a  million  dollars  already." 

"  Whew,"  whistled  Kennedy,  "  that's  going  some. 
And  I  suppose  it  is  all  salted  away  in  some  portable 
form.  What  an  inventory  it  must  be — good  bills, 
gold,  diamonds,  and  jewellery.  This  is  a  stake 
worth  playing  for." 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  125 

*  Yes,"  broke  in  O'Connor,  "  but  from  my  stand- 
point, professionally,  I  mean,  the  case  is  even  worse 
than  that.  It's  not  the  counterfeits  that  bother  us. 
We  understand  that,  all  right.  But,"  and  he  leaned 
forward  earnestly  and  brought  his  fist  down  hard, 
on  the  table  with  a  resounding  Irish  oath,  "  the 
finger-print  system,  the  infallible  finger-print  system, 
has  gone  to  pieces.  We've  just  imported  this  new 
*  portrait  parle  '  fresh  from  Paris  and  London,  in- 
vented by  Bertillon  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — it 
has  gone  to  pieces,  too.  It's  a  fine  case,  this  is, 
with  nothing  left  of  either  scientific  or  unscientific 
criminal-catching  to  rely  on.  There — what  do  you 
know  about  that?  " 

"  You'll  have  to  tell  me  the  facts  first,"  said 
Kennedy.  "  I  can't  diagnose  your  disease  until  I 
know  the  symptoms." 

"  It's  like  this,"  explained  Burke,  the  detective 
in  him  showing  now  with  no  effort  at  concealment. 
"  A  man,  an  Englishman,  apparently,  went  into  a 
downtown  banker's  office  about  three  months  ago 
and  asked  to  have  some  English  bank-notes  ex- 
changed for  American  money.  After  he  had  gone 
away,  the  cashier  began  to  get  suspicious.  He 
thought  there  was  something  phoney  in  the  feel  of 
the  notes.  Under  the  glass  he  noticed  that  the  little 
curl  on  the  '  e  '  of  tfye  '  Five  '  was  missing.  It's 
the  protective  mark.  The  water-mark  was  quite 
equal  to  that  of  the  genuine — maybe  better.  Hold 
that  note  up  to  the  light  and  see  for  yourself. 

"  Well,  the  next  day,  down  to  the  Custom  House, 
where  my  office  is,  a  man  came  who  runs  a  swell 


126  THE  POISONED  PEN 

gambling-house  uptown.  He  laid  ten  brand-new 
bills  on  my  desk.  An  Englishman  had  been  betting 
on  the  wheel.  He  didn't  seem  to  care  about  win- 
ning, and  he  cashed  in  each  time  with  a  new  one- 
hundred-dollar  bill.  Of  course  he  didn't  care  about 
winning.  He  cared  about  the  change — that  was  his 
winning.  The  bill  on  the  table  is  one  of  the  original 
ten,  though  since  then  scores  have  been  put  into 
circulation.  I  made  up  my  mind  that  it  was  the 
same  Englishman  in  both  cases. 

"  Then  within  a  week,  in  walked  the  manager 
of  the  Mozambique  Hotel — he  had  been  stung  with 
the  fake  International  Express  money-order — same 
Englishman,  too,  I  believe." 

"And  you  have  no  trace  of  him?"  asked  Ken- 
nedy eagerly. 

"  We  had  him  under  arrest  once — we  thought. 
A  general  alarm  was  sent  out,  of  course,  to  all  the 
banks  and  banking-houses.  But  the  man  was  too 
clever  to  turn  up  in  that  way  again.  In  one  gam- 
bling-joint which  women  frequent  a  good  deal,  a 
classy  dame  who  might  have  been  a  duchess  or  a — 
well,  she  was  a  pretty  good  loser  and  always  paid 
with  hundred-dollar  bills.  Now,  you  know  women 
are  not  good  losers.  Besides,  the  hundred-dollar- 
bill  story  had  got  around  among  the  gambling- 
houses.  This  joint  thought  it  worth  taking  a 
chance,  so  they  called  me  up  on  the  'phone,  ex- 
tracted a  promise  that  I'd  play  fair  and  keep 
O'Connor  from  raiding  them,  but  wouldn't  I  please 
come  up  and  look  over  the  dame  of  the  yellow 
bills?  Of  course  I  made  a  jump  at  it.  Sure 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  127 

enough,  they  were  the  same  counterfeits.  I  could 
tell  because  the  silk  threads  were  drawn  in  with 
coloured  ink.  But  instead  of  making  an  arrest  I 
decided  to  trail  the  lady. 

"  Now,  here  comes  the  strange  part  of  it.  Let 
me  see,  this  must  have  been  over  two  months  ago. 
I  followed  her  out  to  a  suburban  town,  Riverwood 
along  the  Hudson,  and  to  a  swell  country  house 
overlooking  the  river,  private  drive,  stone  gate, 
hedges,  old  trees,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  A 
sporty-looking  Englishman  met  her  at  the  gate  with 
one  of  those  big  imported  touring-cars,  and  they 
took  a  spin. 

"  I  waited  a  day  or  so,  but  nothing  more  hap- 
pened, and  I  began  to  get  anxious.  Perhaps  I  was 
a  bit  hasty.  Anyhow  I  watched  my  chance  and 
made  an  arrest  of  both  of  them  when  they  came  to 
New  York  on  a  shopping  expedition.  You  should 
have  heard  that  Englishman  swear.  I  didn't  know 
such  language  was  possible.  But  in  his  pocket  we 
found  twenty  more  of  those  hundred-dollar  bills — 
that  was  all.  Do  you  think  he  owned  up?  Not  a 
bit  of  it.  He  swore  he  had  picked  the  notes  up  in 
a  pocketbook  on  the  pier  as  he  left  the  steamer.  I 
laughed.  But  when  he  was  arraigned  in  court  he 
told  the  magistrate  the  same  story  and  that  he  had 
advertised  his  find  at  the  time.  Sure  enough,  in  the 
files  of  the  papers  we  discovered  in  the  lost-and- 
found  column  the  ad.,  just  as  he  claimed.  We 
couldn't  even  prove  that  he  had  passed  the  bills. 
So  the  magistrate  refused  to  hold  them,  and  they 
were  both  released.  But  we  had  had  them  in  our 


128  THE  POISONED  PEN 

power  long  enough  to  take  their  finger-prints  and 
get  descriptions  and  measurements  of  them,  particu- 
larly by  this  new  4  portrait  parle  '  system.  We  felt 
we  could  send  out  a  strange  detective  and  have  him 
pick  them  out  of  a  crowd — you  know  the  system,  I 
presume?  " 

Kennedy  nodded,  and  I  made  a  mental  note  of 
finding  out  more  about  the  "  portrait  parle  M  later. 

Burke  paused,  and  O'Connor  prompted,  "  Tell 
them  about  Scotland  Yard,  Tom." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  resumed  Burke.  "  Of  course  I  sent 
copies  of  the  finger-prints  to  Scotland  Yard.  Within 
two  weeks  they  replied  that  one  set  belonged  to 
William  Forbes,  a  noted  counterfeiter,  who,  they 
understood,  had  sailed  for  South  Africa  but  had 
never  arrived  there.  They  were  glad  to  learn  that 
he  was  in  America,  and  advised  me  to  look  after 
him  sharply.  The  woman  was  also  a  noted  charac- 
ter— Harriet  Wollstone,  an  adventuress." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  shadowed  them  ever  since?  '* 
Kennedy  asked. 

"  Yes,  a  few  days  after  they  were  arrested  the 
man  had  an  accident  with  his  car.  It  was  said  he 
was  cranking  the  engine  and  that  it  kicked  back 
and  splintered  the  bone  in  his  forearm.  Anyhow, 
he  went  about  with  his  hand  and  arm  in  a  sling." 

"And  then?" 

"  They  gave  my  man  the  slip  that  night  in  their 
fast  touring-car.  You  know  automobiles  have  about 
made  shadowing  impossible  in  these  days.  The 
house  was  closed  up,  and  it  was  said  by  the  neigh- 
bours thai  Williams  and  Mrs.  Williams — as  they 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  129 

called  themselves — had  gone  to  visit  a  specialist  in 
Philadelphia.  Still,  as  they  had  a  year's  lease  on 
the  house,  I  detailed  a  man  to  watch  it  more  or 
less  all  the  time.  They  went  to  Philadelphia  all 
right;  some  of  the  bills  turned  up  there.  But  we 
saw  nothing  of  them. 

"  A  short  time  ago,  word  came  to  me  that  the 
house  was  open  again.  It  wasn't  two  hours  later 
that  the  telephone  rang  like  mad.  A  Fifth  Avenue 
jeweller  had  just  sold  a  rope  of  pearls  to  an  Eng- 
lishwoman who  paid  for  it  herself  in  crisp  new  one- 
hundred-dollar  bills.  The  bank  had  returned  them 
to  him  that  very  afternoon — counterfeits.  I  didn't 
lose  any  time  making  a  second  arrest  up  at  the  house 
of  mystery  at  Riverwood.  I  had  the  county  authori- 
ties hold  them — and,  now,  O'Connor,  tell  the  rest 
of  it.  You  took  the  finger-prints  up  there." 

O'Connor  cleared  his  throat  as  if  something  stuck 
in  it,  in  the  telling.  "  The  Riverwood  authorities 
refused  to  hold  them,"  he  said  with  evident  chagrin. 
"  As  soon  as  I  heard  of  the  arrest  I  started  up 
myself  with  the  finger-print  records  to  help  Burke. 
It  was  the  same  man,  all  right — I'll  swear  to  that 
on  a  stack  of  Bibles.  So  will  Burke.  I'll  never 
forget  that  snub  nose — the  concave  nose,  the  nose 
being  the  first  point  of  identification  in  the  '  portrait 
parle.'  And  the  ears,  too — oh,  it  was  the  same 
man,  all  right.  But  when  we  produced  the  London 
finger-prints  which  tallied  with  the  New  York  finger- 
prints which  we  had  made — believe  it  or  not,  but 
it  is  a  fact,  the  Riverwood  finger-prints  did  not  tally 
at  all." 


130  THE  POISONED  PEN 

He  laid  the  prints  on  the  table.  Kennedy  ex- 
amined them  closely.  His  face  clouded.  It  was 
quite  evident  that  he  was  stumped,  and  he  said  so. 
"  There  are  some  points  of  agreement,"  he  re- 
marked, "  but  more  points  of  difference.  Any 
points  of  difference  are  usually  considered  fatal  to 
the  finger-print  theory." 

"  We  had  to  let  the  man  go,"  concluded  Burke. 
"  We  could  have  held  the  woman,  but  we  let  her 
go,  too,  because  she  was  not  the  principal  in  the 
case.  My  men  are  shadowing  the  house  now  and 
have  been  ever  since  then.  But  the  next  day  after 
the  last  arrest,  a  man  from  New  York,  who  looked 
like  a  doctor,  made  a  visit.  The  secret-service  man 
on  the  job  didn't  dare  leave  the  house  to  follow 
him,  but  as  he  never  came  again  perhaps  it  doesn't 
matter.  Since  then  the  house  has  been  closed." 

The  telephone  rang.  It  was  Burke's  office  call- 
ing him.  As  he  talked  we  could  gather  that  some- 
thing tragic  must  have  happened  at  Riverwood,  and 
we  could  hardly  wait  until  he  had  finished. 

"  There  has  been  an  accident  up  there,"  he  re- 
marked as  he  hung  up  the  receiver  rather  petulantly. 
"  They  returned  in  the  car  this  afternoon  with  a  large 
package  in  the  back  of  the  tonneau.  But  they  didn't 
stay  long.  After  dark  they  started  out  again  in 
the  car.  The  accident  was  at  the  bad  railroad  cross- 
ing just  above  Riverwood.  It  seems  Williams's  car 
got  stalled  on  the  track  just  as  the  Buffalo  express 
was  due.  No  one  saw  it,  but  a  man  in  a  buggy 
around  the  bend  in  the  road  heard  a  woman  scream. 
He  hurried  down.  The  train  had  smashed  the  car 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  131 

to  bits.  How  the  woman  escaped  was  a  miracle, 
but  they  found  the  man's  body  up  the  tracks,  hor- 
ribly mangled.  It  was  Williams,  they  say.  They 
identified  him  by  the  clothes  and  by  letters  in  his 
pockets.  But  my  man  tells  me  he  found  a  watch 
on  him  with  '  W.  F.'  engraved  on  it.  His  hands 
and  arms  and  head  must  have  been  right  under  the 
locomotive  when  it  struck  him,  I  judge." 

"  I  guess  that  winds  the  case  up,  eh?  "  exclaimed 
O'Connor  with  evident  chagrin.  u  Where's  the 
woman?  " 

44  They  said  she  was  in  the  little  local  hospital, 
but  not  much  hurt.  Just  the  shock  and  a  few 
bruises." 

O'Connor's  question  seemed  to  suggest  an  idea 
to  Burke,  and  he  reached  for  the  telephone  again. 
"  Riverwood  297,"  he  ordered;  then  to  us  as  he 
waited  he  said :  "  We  must  hold  the  woman.  Hello, 
297?  The  hospital?  This  is  Burke  of  the  secret 
service.  Will  you  tell  my  man,  who  must  be  some- 
where about,  that  I  would  like  to  have  him  hold 
that  woman  who  was  in  the  auto  smash  until  I  can 
— what?  Gone?  The  deuce!" 

He  hung  up  the  receiver  angrily.  "  She  left  with 
a  man  who  called  for  her  about  half  an  hour  ago," 
he  said.  "  There  must  be  a  gang  of  them.  Forbes 
is  dead,  but  we  must  get  the  rest.  Mr.  Kennedy, 
I'm  sorry  to  have  bothered  you,  but  I  guess  we  can 
handle  this  alone,  after  all.  It  was  the  finger-prints 
that  fooled  us,  but  now  that  Forbes  is  out  of  the 
way  it's  just  a  straight  case  of  detective  work  of 
the  old  style  which  won't  interest  you." 


132  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  On  the  contrary,"  answered  Kennedy,  "  I'm  just 
beginning  to  be  interested.  Does  it  occur  to  you 
that,  after  all,  Forbes  may  not  be  dead?  " 

"  Not  dead?  "  echoed  Burke  and  O'Connor  to- 
gether. 

"Exactly;  that's  just  what  I  said — not  dead. 
Now  stop  and  think  a  moment.  Would  the  great 
Forbes  be  so  foolish  as  to  go  about  with  a  watch 
marked  '  W.  F.'  if  he  knew,  as  he  must  have  known, 
that  you  would  communicate  with  London  and  by 
means  of  the  prints  find  out  all  about  him?  " 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Burke,  "  all  we  have  to  go  by  is 
his  watch  found  on  Williams.  I  suppose  there  is 
some  possibility  that  Forbes  may  still  be  alive." 

"  Who  is  this  third  man  who  comes  in  and  with 
whom  Harriet  Wollstone  goes  away  so  willingly?  " 
put  in  O'Connor.  "  You  said  the  house  had  been 
closed — absolutely  closed?  " 

Burke  nodded.  "  Been  closed  ever  since  the  last 
arrest.  There's  a  servant  who  goes  in  now  and 
then,  but  the  car  hasn't  been  there  before  to-night, 
wherever  it  has  been." 

"  I  should  like  to  watch  that  house  myself  for  a 
while,"  mused  Kennedy.  "  I  suppose  you  have  no 
objections  to  my  doing  so?" 

"  Of  course  not.  Go  ahead,"  said  Burke.  "  I 
will  go  along  with  you  if  you  wish,  or  my  man  can 
go  with  you." 

"  No,"  said  Kennedy,  "  too  many  of  us  might 
spoil  the  broth.  I'll  watch  alone  to-night  and  will 
see  you  in  the  morning.  You  needn't  even  say  any- 
thing to  your  man  there  about  us." 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  133 

'  Walter,  what's  on  for  to-night?  "  he  asked  when 
they  had  gone.  "  How  are  you  fixed  for  a  little 
trip  out  to  Riverwood?" 

'  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  an  engagement  at  the 
College  Club  with  some  of  the  fellows." 

"  Oh,  cut  it." 

"  That's  what  I  intend  to  do,"  I  replied. 

It  was  a  raw  night,  and  we  bundled  ourselves  up 
in  old  football  sweaters  under  our  overcoats.  Half 
an  hour  later  we  were  on  our  way  up  to  Riverwood. 

41  By  the  way,  Craig,"  I  asked,  "  I  didn't  like 
to  say  anything  before  those  fellows.  They'd  think 
I  was  a  dub.  But  I  don't  mind  asking  you.  What 
is  this  '  portrait  parle  '  they  talk  about,  anyway?  " 

4  Why,  it's  a  word-picture — a  '  spoken  picture,' 
to  be  literal.  I  took  some  lessons  in  it  at  Bertillon's 
school  when  I  was  in  Paris.  It's  a  method  of  scien- 
tific apprehension  of  criminals,  a  sort  of  necessary 
addition  and  completion  to  the  methods  of  scientific 
identification  of  them  after  they  are  arrested.  For 
instance,  in  trying  to  pick  out  a  given  criminal  from 
his  mere  description  you  begin  with  the  nose.  Now, 
noses  are  all  concave,  straight,  or  convex.  This 
Forbes  had  a  nose  that  was  concave,  Burke  says. 
Suppose  you  were  sent  out  to  find  him.  Of  all  the 
people  you  met,  we'll  say,  roughly,  two-thirds 
wouldn't  interest  you.  You'd  pass  up  all  with 
straight  or  convex  noses.  Now  the  next  point  to 
observe  is  the  ear.  There  are  four  general  kinds 
of  ears — triangular,  square,  oval,  and  round,  besides 
a  number  of  other  differences  which  are  clear  enough 
after  you  study  ears.  LThis  fellow  is  a  pale  man 


134  THE  POISONED  PEN 

with  square  ears  and  a  peculiar  lobe  to  his  ear.  So 
you  wouldn't  give  a  second  glance  to,  say,  three- 
fourths  of  the  square-eared  people.  So  by  a  process 
of  elimination  of  various  features,  the  eyes,  the 
mouth,  the  hair,  wrinkles,  and  so  forth,  you  would 
be  able  to  pick  your  man  out  of  a  thousand — that 
is,  if  you  were  trained." 

"And  it  works?"  I  asked  rather  doubtfully. 

"  Oh,  yes.  That's  why  I'm  taking  up  this  case. 
I  believe  science  can  really  be  used  to  detect  crime, 
any  crime,  and  in  the  present  instance  I've  just  pride 
enough  to  stick  to  this  thing  until — until  they  begin 
to  cut  ice  on  the  Styx.  Whew,  but  it  will  be  cold 
out  in  the  country  to-night,  Walter — speaking  about 
ice." 

It  was  quite  late  when  we  reached  Riverwood, 
and  Kennedy  hurried  along  the  dimly  lighted  streets, 
avoiding  the  main  street  lest  some  one  might  be 
watching  or  following  us.  He  pushed  on,  follow- 
ing the  directions  Burke  had  given  him.  The  house 
in  question  was  a  large,  newly  built  affair  of  con- 
crete, surrounded  by  trees  and  a  hedge,  directly 
overlooking  the  river.  A  bitter  wind  swept  in  from 
the  west,  but  in  the  shadow  of  an  evergreen  tree 
and  of  the  hedge  Kennedy  established  our  watch. 

Of  all  fruitless  errands  this  seemed  to  me  to  be 
the  acme.  The  house  was  deserted;  that  was  appar- 
ent, I  thought,  and  I  said  so.  Hardly  had  I  said 
it  when  I  heard  the  baying  of  a  dog.  It  did  not 
come  from  the  house,  however,  and  I  concluded 
that  it  must  have  come  from  the  next  estate. 

"  It's  in  the  garage,"  whispered  Kennedy.     "  I 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  135 

can  hardly  think  they  would  go  away  and  leave  a 
dog  locked  up  in  it.  They  would  at  least  turn  him 
loose." 

Hour  after  hour  we  waited.  Midnight  passed, 
and  still  nothing  happened.  At  last  when  the  moon 
had  disappeared  under  the  clouds,  Kennedy  pulled 
me  along.  We  had  seen  not  a  sign  of  life  in  the 
house,  yet  he  observed  all  the  caution  he  would 
have  if  it  had. been  well  guarded.  Quickly  we  ad- 
vanced over  the  open  space  to  the  house,  approach- 
ing in  the  shadow  as  much  as  possible,  on  the  side 
farthest  from  the  river. 

Tiptoeing  over  the  porch,  Kennedy  tried  a  win- 
dow. It  was  fastened.  Without  hesitation  he 
pulled  out  some  instruments.  One  of  them  was  a 
rubber  suction-cup,  which  he  fastened  to  the  window- 
pane.  Then  with  a  very  fine  diamond-cutter  he  pro- 
ceeded to  cut  out  a  large  section.  It  soon  fell  and 
was  prevented  from  smashing  on  the  floor  by  the 
string  and  the  suction-cup.  Kennedy  put  his  hand 
in  and  unlatched  the  window,  and  we  stepped  in. 

All  was  silent.  Apparently  the  house  was  de- 
serted. 

Cautiously  Kennedy  pressed  the  button  of  his 
pocket  storage-battery  lamp  and  flashed  it  slowly 
about  the  room.  It  was  a  sort  of  library,  hand- 
somely furnished.  At  last  the  beam  of  light  rested 
on  a  huge  desk  at  the  opposite  end.  It  seemed  to 
interest  Kennedy,  and  we  tiptoed  over  to  it.  One 
after  another  he  opened  the  drawers.  One  was 
locked,  and  he  saved  that  until  the  last. 

Quietly  as  he  could,  he  jimmied  it  open,  muffling 


136  THE  POISONED  PEN 

the  jimmy  in  a  felt  cloth  that  was  on  a  table.  Most 
people  do  not  realise  the  disruptive  force  that  there 
is  in  a  simple  jimmy.  I  didn't  until  I  saw  the  solid 
drawer  with  its  heavy  lock  yield  with  just  the  trace 
of  a  noise.  Kennedy  waited  an  instant  and  listened. 
Nothing  happened. 

Inside  the  drawer  was  a  most  nondescript  col- 
lection of  useless  articles.  There  were  a  number 
of  pieces  of  fine  sponge,  some  of  them  very  thin 
and  cut  in  a  flat  oval  shape,  smelling  of  lysol 
strongly;  several  bottles,  a  set  of  sharp  little  knives, 
some  paraffin,  bandages,  antiseptic  gauze,  cotton — 
in  fact,  it  looked  like  a  first-aid  kit.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  it  Kennedy  seemed  astonished  but  not  at  a 
loss  to  account  for  it. 

"  I  thought  he  left  that  sort  of  thing  to  the 
doctors,  but  I  guess  he  took  a  hand  in  it  himself," 
he  muttered,  continuing  to  fumble  with  the  knives 
in  the  drawer.  It  was  no  time  to  ask  questions,  and 
I  did  not.  Kennedy  rapidly  stowed  away  the  things 
in  his  pockets.  One  bottle  he  opened  and  held  to 
his  nose.  I  could  distinguish  immediately  the  vola- 
tile smell  of  ether.  He  closed  it  quickly,  and  it, 
too,  went  into  his  pocket  with  the  remark,  "  Some- 
body must  have  known  how  to  administer  an  anaes- 
thetic— probably  the  Wollstone  woman." 

A  suppressed  exclamation  from  Kennedy  caused 
ine  to  look.  The  drawer  had  a  false  back.  Safely 
tucked  away  in  it  reposed  a  tin  box,  one  of  those 
so-called  strong-boxes  which  are  so  handy  in  that 
they  save  a  burglar  much  time  and  trouble  in  hunt- 
ing all  over  for  the  valuables  he  has  come  after. 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  137 

Kennedy  drew  it  forth  and  laid  it  on  the  desk.  It 
was  locked. 

Even  that  did  not  seem  to  satisfy  Kennedy,  who 
continued  to  scrutinise  the  walls  and  corners  of  the 
room  as  if  looking  for  a  safe  or  something  of  that 
sort. 

"  Let's  look  in  the  room  across  the  hall,"  he 
whispered. 

Suddenly  a  piercing  scream  of  a  woman  rang  out 
upstairs.  "  Help !  Help !  There's  some  one  in 
the  house !  Billy,  help !  " 

I  felt  an  arm  grasp  me  tightly,  and  for  a  moment 
a  chill  ran  over  me  at  being  caught  in  the  nefarious 
work  of  breaking  and  entering  a  dwelling-house  at 
night.  But  it  was  only  Kennedy,  who  had  already 
tucked  the  precious  little  tin  box  under  his  arm. 

With  a  leap  he  dragged  me  to  the  open  window, 
cleared  it,  vaulted  over  the  porch,  and  we  were 
running  for  the  clump  of  woods  that  adjoined  the 
estate  on  one  side.  Lights  flashed  in  all  the  win- 
dows of  the  house  at  once.  There  must  have  been 
some  sort  of  electric-light  system  that  could  be 
lighted  instantly  as  a  "  burglar-expeller."  Anyhow, 
we  had  made  good  our  escape. 

As  we  lost  ourselves  in  the  woods  I  gave  a  last 
glance  back  and  saw  a  lantern  carried  from  the 
house  to  the  garage.  As  the  door  was  unlocked 
I  could  see,  in  the  moonlight,  a  huge  dog  leap  out 
and  lick  the  hands  and  face  of  a  man. 

Quickly  we  now  crashed  through  the  frozen 
underbrush.  Evidently  Kennedy  was  making  for 
the  station  by  a  direct  route  across  country  instead 


138  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  the  circuitous  way  by  the  road  and  tow"n.  Be- 
hind us  we  could  hear  a  deep  baying. 

"  By  the  Lord,  Walter,"  cried  Kennedy,  for  once 
in  his  life  thoroughly  alarmed,  "  it's  a  bloodhound, 
and  our  trail  is  fresh." 

Closer  it  came.  Press  forward  as  we  might,  we 
could  never  expect  to  beat  that  dog. 

"  Oh,  for  a  stream,"  groaned  Kennedy,  "  but  they 
are  all  frozen — even  the  river." 

He  stopped  short,  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  and 
drew  out  the  bottle  of  ether. 

"  Raise  your  foot,  Walter,"  he  ordered. 

I  did  so  and  he  smeared  first  mine  and  then  his 
with  the  ether.  Then  we  doubled  on  our  trail  once 
or  twice  and  ran  again. 

"  The  dog  will  never  be  able  to  pick  up  the  ether 
as  our  trail,"  panted  Kennedy;  "  that  is,  if  he  is 
any  good  and  trained  not  to  go  off  on  wild-goose 
chases." 

On  we  hurried  from  the  woods  to  the  now  dark 
and  silent  town.  It  was  indeed  fortunate  that  the 
dog  had  been  thrown  off  our  scent,  for  the  station 
was  closed,  and,  indeed,  if  it  had  been  open  I  am 
sure  the  station  agent  would  have  felt  more  like 
locking  the  door  against  two  such  tramps  as  we 
were,  carrying  a  tin  box  and  pursued  by  a  dog,  than 
opening  it  for  us.  The  best  we  could  do  was  to 
huddle  into  a  corner  until  we  succeeded  in  jumping 
a  milk-train  that  luckily  slowed  down  as  it  passed 
Riverwood  station. 

Neither  of  us  could  wait  to  open  the  tin  box  in 
f?ur  apartment,  and  instead  of  going  uptown  Ken- 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  139 

nedy  decided  it  would  be  best  to  go  to  a  hotel  near 
the  station.  Somehow  we  succeeded  in  getting  a 
room  without  exciting  suspicion.  Hardly  had  the 
bellboy's  footsteps  ceased  echoing  in  the  corridor 
than  Kennedy  was  at  work  wrenching  off  the  lid  of 
the  box  with  such  leverage  as  the  scanty  furnishings 
of  the  room  afforded. 

At  last  it  yielded,  and  we  looked  in  curiously, 
expecting  to  find  fabulous  wealth  in  some  form.  A 
few  hundred  dollars  and  a  rope  of  pearls  lay  in  it. 
It  was  a  good  "  haul,"  but  where  was  the  vast  spoil 
the  counterfeiters  had  accumulated?  We  had 
missed  it.  So  far  we  were  completely  baffled. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  snatch  a  couple  of  hours' 
sleep,"  was  all  that  Craig  said,  stifling  his  chagrin. 

Over  and  over  in  my  mind  I  was  turning  the 
problem  of  where  they  had  hidden  the  spoil.  I 
dozed  off,  still  thinking  about  it  and  thinking  that, 
even  should  they  be  captured,  they  might  have 
stowed  away  perhaps  a  million  dollars  to  which 
they  could  go  back  after  their  sentences  were  served. 

It  was  still  early  for  New  York  when  Kennedy 
roused  me  by  talking  over  the  telephone  in  the 
room.  In  fact,  I  doubt  if  he  had  slept  at  all. 

Burke  was  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire.  His 
man  had  just  reported  that  something  had  happened 
during  the  night  at  Riverwood,  but  he  couldn't  give 
a  very  clear  account.  Craig  seemed  to  enjoy  the 
joke  immensely  as  he  told  his  story  to  Burke. 

The  last  words  I  heard  were :  "  All  right.  Send 
a  man  up  here  to  the  station — one  who  knows  all 
the  descriptions  of  these  people.  I'm  sure  they 


i4o  THE  POISONED  PEN 

will  have  to  come  into  town  to-day,  and  they  will 
have  to  come  by  train,  for  their  car  is  wrecked. 
Better  watch  at  the  uptown  stations,  also." 

After  a  hasty  breakfast  we  met  Burke's  man  and 
took  our  places  at  the  exit  from  the  train  platforms. 
Evidently  Kennedy  had  figured  out  that  the  counter- 
feiters would  have  to  come  into  town  for  some 
reason  or  other.  The  incoming  passengers  were 
passing  us  in  a  steady  stream,  for  a  new  station  was 
then  being  built,  and  there  was  only  a  temporary 
structure  with  one  large  exit. 

"  Here  is  where  the  '  portrait  parle '  ought  to 
come  in,  if  ever,"  commented  Kennedy  as  he  watched 
eagerly. 

And  yet  neither  man  nor  woman  passed  us  who 
fitted  the  description.  Train  after  train  emptied  its 
human  freight,  yet  the  pale  man  with  the  concave 
nose  and  the  peculiar  ear,  accompanied  perhaps  by 
a  lady,  did  not  pass  us. 

At  last  the  incoming  stream  began  to  dwindle 
down.  It  was  long  past  the  time  when  the  counter- 
feiters should  have  arrived  if  they  had  started  on 
any  reasonable  train. 

"  Perhaps  they  have  gone  up  to  Montreal,  in- 
stead," I  ventured. 

Kennedy  shook  his  head.  "  No,"  he  answered. 
"  I  have  an  idea  that  I  was  mistaken  about  the 
money  being  kept  at  Riverwood.  It  would  have 
been  too  risky.  I  thought  it  out  on  the  way  back 
this  morning.  They  probably  kept  it  in  a  safe 
deposit  vault  here.  I  had  figured  that  they  would 
come  down  and  get  it  and  leave  New  York  after 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  141 

last  night's  events.  We  have  failed — they  have  got 
by  us.  Neither  the  '  portrait  parle  '  nor  the  ordi- 
nary photography  nor  any  other  system  will  suffice 
alone  against  the  arch-criminal  back  of  this,  I'm 
afraid.  Walter,  I  am  sore  and  disgusted.  What 
I  should  have  done  was  to  accept  Burke's  offer — sur- 
round the  house  with  a  posse  if  necessary,  last  night, 
and  catch  the  counterfeiters  by  sheer  force.  I  was 
too  confident.  I  thought  I  could  do  it  with  finesse, 
and  I  have  failed.  I'd  give  anything  to  know  what 
safe  deposit  vault  they  kept  the  fake  money  in." 

I  said  nothing  as  we  strolled  away,  leaving  Burke's 
man  still  to  watch,  hoping  against  hope.  Kennedy 
walked  disconsolately  through  the  station,  and  I 
followed.  In  a  secluded  part  of  the  waiting-room 
he  sat  down,  his  face  drawn  up  in  a  scowl  such  as 
I  had  never  seen.  Plainly  he  was  disgusted  with 
himself — with  only  himself.  This  was  no  bungling 
of  Burke  or  any  one  else.  Again  the  counterfeiters 
had  escaped  from  the  hand  of  the  law. 

As  he  moved  his  fingers  restlessly  in  the  pockets 
of  his  coat,  he  absently  pulled  out  the  little  pieces 
of  sponge  and  the  ether  bottle.  He  regarded  them 
without  much  interest. 

"  I  know  what  they  were  for,"  he  said,  diving 
back  into  his  pocket  for  the  other  things  and  bring- 
ing out  the  sharp  little  knives  in  their  case.  I  said 
nothing,  for  Kennedy  was  in  a  deep  study.  At  last 
he  put  the  things  back  into  his  pocket.  As  he  did 
so  his  hand  encountered  something  which  he  drew 
forth  with  a  puzzled  air.  It  was  the  piece  of  par- 
affin. 


i42  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Now,  what  do  you  suppose  that  was  for?  "  he 
asked,  half  to  himself.  "  I  had  forgotten  that. 
What  was  the  use  of  a  piece  of  paraffin?  Phew, 
smell  the  antiseptic  worked  into  it." 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  rather  testily.  "  If 
you  would  tell  me  what  the  other  things  were  for  I 
might  enlighten  you,  but " 

"  By  George,  Walter,  what  a  chump  I  am !  " 
cried  Kennedy,  leaping  to  his  feet,  all  energy  again. 
"Why  did  I  forget  that  lump  of  paraffin?  Why, 
of  course — I  think  I  can  guess  what  they  have  been 
doing — of  course.  Why,  man  alive,  he  walked 
right  past  us,  and  we  never  knew  it.  Boy,  boy,"  he 
shouted  to  a  newsboy  who  passed,  "  what's  the  latest 
sporting  edition  you  have?  " 

Eagerly  he  almost  tore  a  paper  open  and  scanned 
the  sporting  pages.  "  Racing  at  Lexington  begins 
to-morrow,"  he  read.  "  Yes,  I'll  bet  that's  it.  We 
don't  have  to  know  the  safe  deposit  vault,  after  all. 
It  would  be  too  late,  anyhow.  Quick,  let  us  look 
up  the  train  to  Lexington." 

As  we  hurried  over  to  the  information  booth,  I 
gasped,  in  a  whirl :  "  Now,  look  here,  Kennedy, 
what's  all  this  lightning  calculation?  What  possible 
connection  is  there  between  a  lump  of  paraffin  and 
one  of  the  few  places  in  the  country  where  they  still 
race  horses?  " 

"  None,"  he  replied,  not  stopping  an  instant. 
"  None.  The  paraffin  suggested  to  me  the  possible 
way  in  which  our  man  managed  to  elude  us  under 
our  very  eyes.  That  set  my  mind  at  work  again. 
Like  a  flash  it  occurred  to  me:  Where  would  they 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  143 

be  most  likely  to  go  next  to  work  off  some  of  the 
bills?  The  banks  are  on,  the  jewellery-houses  are 
on,  the  gambling-joints  are  on.  Why,  to  the  race- 
tracks, of  course.  That's  it.  Counterfeiters  all 
use  the  bookmakers,  only  since  racing  has  been  killed 
in  New  York  they  have  had  to  resort  to  other  means 
here.  If  New  York  has  suddenly  become  too  hot, 
what  more  natural  than  to  leave  it?  Here,  let  me 
see — there's  a  train  that  gets  there  early  to-morrow, 
the  best  train,  too.  Say,  is  No.  144  made  up  yet?  " 
he  inquired  at  the  desk. 

"  No.  144  will  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes. 
Track  8." 

Kennedy  thanked  the  man,  turned  abruptly,  and 
started  for  the  still  closed  gate  at  Track  8. 

"  Beg  pardon — why,  hulloa — it's  Burke,"  he  ex- 
claimed as  we  ran  plump  into  a  man  staring  vacantly 
about. 

It  was  not  the  gentleman  farmer  of  the  night 
before,  nor  yet  the  supposed  college  graduate.  This 
man  was  a  Western  rancher;  his  broad-brimmed  hat, 
long  moustache,  frock  coat,  and  flowing  tie  pro- 
claimed it.  Yet  there  was  something  indefinably 
familiar  about  him,  too.  It  was  Burke  in  another 
disguise. 

"  Pretty  good  work,  Kennedy,"  nodded  Burke, 
shifting  his  tobacco  from  one  side  of  his  jaws  to 
the  other.  "  Now,  tell  me  how  your  man  escaped 
you  this  morning,  when  you  can  recognise  me  in- 
stantly in  this  rig." 

"  You  haven't  altered  your  features,"  explained 
Kennedy  simply.  "  Our  pale-faced,  snub-nosed, 


144  THE  POISONED  PEN 

peculiar-eared  friend  has.  What  do  you  think  of 
the  possibility  of  his  going  to  the  Lexington  track, 
now  that  he  finds  it  too  dangerous  to  remain  in  New 
York?" 

Burke  looked  at  Kennedy  rather  sharply.  "  Say, 
do  you  add  telepathy  to  your  other  accomplish- 
ments? " 

"  No,"  laughed  Craig,  "  but  I'm  glad  to  see  that 
two  of  us  working  independently  have  arrived  at 
the  same  conclusion.  Come,  let  us  saunter  over  to 
Track  8 — I  guess  the  train  is  made  up." 

The  gate  was  just  opened,  and  the  crowd  filed 
through.  No  one  who  seemed  to  satisfy  either 
Burke  or  Kennedy  appeared.  The  train-announcer 
made  his  last  call.  Just  then  a  taxicab  pulled  up 
at  the  street-end  of  the  platform,  not  far  from 
Track  8.  A  man  jumped  out  and  assisted  a  heavily 
veiled  lady,  paid  the  driver,  picked  up  the  grips, 
and  turned  toward  us. 

We  waited  expectantly.  As  he  turned  I  saw  a 
dark-skinned,  hook-nosed  man,  and  I  exclaimed  dis- 
gustedly to  Burke:  "Well,  if  they  are  going  to 
Lexington  they  can't  make  this  train.  Those  are 
the  last  people  who  have  a  chance." 

Kennedy,  however,  continued  to  regard  the  couple 
steadily.  The  man  saw  that  he  was  being  watched 
and  faced  us  defiantly,  "  Such  impertinence !  "  Then 
to  his  wife,  "  Come,  my  dear,  we'll  just  make  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  I'll  have  to  trouble  you  to  show  us 
what's  in  that  grip,"  said  Kennedy,  calmly  laying 
his  hand  on  the  man's  arm. 

"  Well,  now,  did  you  ever  hear  of  such  blasted 


145 

impudence?  Get  out  of  my  way,  sir,  this  instant, 
or  I'll  have  you  arrested." 

"  Come,  come,  Kennedy,"  interrupted  Burke. 
"  Surely  you  are  getting  in  wrong  here.  This  can't 
be  the  man." 

Craig  shook  his  head  decidedly.  "  You  can  make 
the  arrest  or  not,  Burke,  as  you  choose.  If  not,  I 
am  through.  If  so — I'll  take  all  the  responsibility." 

Reluctantly  Burke  yielded.  The  man  protested; 
the  woman  cried;  a  crowd  collected. 

The  train-gate  shut  with  a  bang.  As  it  did  so 
the  man's  demeanour  changed  instantly.  "  There," 
he  shouted  angrily,  "  you  have  made  us  miss  our 
train.  I'll  have  you  in  jail  for  this.  Come  on  now 
to  the  nearest  magistrate's  court.  I'll  have  my 
rights  as  an  American  citizen.  You  have  carried 
your  little  joke  too  far.  Knight  is  my  name — John 
Knight,  of  Omaha,  pork-packer.  Come  on  now. 
I'll  see  that  somebody  suffers  for  this  if  I  have  to 
stay  in  New  York  a  year.  It's  an  outrage — an 
outrage." 

Burke  was  now  apparently  alarmed — more  at  the 
possibility  of  the  humorous  publicity  that  would  fol- 
low such  a  mistake  by  the  secret  service  than  at 
anything  else.  However,  Kennedy  did  not  weaken, 
and  on  general  principles  I  stuck  to  Kennedy. 

"  Now,"  said  the  man  surlily  while  he  placed 
"  Mrs.  Knight "  in  as  easy  a  chair  as  he  could  find 
in  the  judge's  chambers,  "  what  is  the  occasion  of 
all  this  row  ?  Tell  the  judge  what  a  bad  man  from 
Bloody  Gulch  I  am." 

O'Connor  had  arrived,  having  broken  all  speed 


146  THE  POISONED  PEN 

laws  and  perhaps  some  records  on  the  way  up  from 
headquarters.  Kennedy  laid  the  Scotland  Yard 
finger-prints  on  the  table.  Beside  them  he  placed 
those  taken  by  O'Connor  and  Burke  in  New  York. 

"  Here,"  he  began,  "  we  have  the  finger-prints 
of  a  man  who  was  one  of  the  most  noted  counter- 
feiters in  Great  Britain.  Beside  them  are  those  of 
a  man  who  succeeded  in  passing  counterfeits  of 
several  kinds  recently  in  New  York.  Some  weeks 
later  this  third  set  of  prints  was  taken  from  a  man 
who  was  believed  to  be  the  same  person." 

The  magistrate  was  examining  the  three  sets  of 
prints.  As  he  came  to  the  third,  he  raised  his  head 
as  if  about  to  make  a  remark,  when  Kennedy  quickly 
interrupted. 

"  One  moment,  sir.  You  were  about  to  say  that 
finger-prints  never  change,  never  show  such  varia- 
tions as  these.  That  is  true.  There  are  finger- 
prints of  people  taken  fifty  years  ago  that  are  ex- 
actly the  same  as  their  finger-prints  of  to-day.  They 
don't  change — they  are  permanent.  The  finger- 
prints of  mummies  can  be  deciphered  even  after 
thousands  of  years.  But,"  he  added  slowly,  "  you 
can  change  fingers." 

The  idea  was  so  startling  that  I  could  scarcely 
realise  what  he  meant  at  first.  I  had  read  of  the 
wonderful  work  of  the  surgeons  of  the  Rockefeller 
Institute  in  transplanting  tissues  and  even  whole 
organs,  in  grafting  skin  and  in  keeping  muscles  arti- 
ficially alive  for  days  under  proper  conditions. 
Could  it  be  that  a  man  had  deliberately  amputated 
his  fingers  and  grafted  on  new  ones?  Was  the 


H7 

stake  sufficient  for  such  a  game?  Surely  there  must 
be  some  scars  left  after  such  grafting.  I  picked  up 
the  various  sets  of  prints.  It  was  true  that  the 
third  set  was  not  very  clear,  but  there  certainly 
were  no  scars  there. 

"  Though  there  is  no  natural  changeability  of 
finger-prints,"  pursued  Kennedy,  "  such  changes  can 
be  induced,  as  Dr.  Paul  Prager  of  Vienna  has  shown, 
by  acids  and  other  reagents,  by  grafting  and  by 
injuries.  Now,  is  there  any  method  by  which  lost 
finger-tips  can  be  restored?  I  know  of  one  case 
where  the  end  of  a  finger  was  taken  off  and  only 
one-sixteenth  inch  of  the  nail  was  left.  The  doctor 
incised  the  edges  of  the  granulating  surface  and 
then  led  the  granulations  on  by  what  is  known  in 
the  medical  profession  as  the  '  sponge  graft.'  He 
grew  a  new  finger-tip. 

"  The  sponge  graft  consists  in  using  portions  of 
a  fine  Turkish  surgical  sponge,  such  I  have  here.  I 
found  these  pieces  in  a  desk  at  Riverwood.  The 
patient  is  anaesthetised.  An  incision  is  made  from 
side  to  side  in  the  stump  of  the  finger  and  flaps  of 
skin  are  sliced  off  and  turned  up  for  the  new  end 
of  the  finger  to  develop  in — a  sort  of  shell  of  living 
skin.  Inside  this,  the  sponge  is  placed,  not  a  large 
piece,  but  a  very  thin  piece  sliced  off  and  cut  to  the 
shape  of  the  finger-stump.  It  is  perfectly  sterilised 
in  water  and  washed  in  green  soap  after  all  the 
stony  particles  are  removed  by  hydrochloric  acid. 
Then  the  finger  is  bound  up  and  kept  moist  with 
normal  salt  solution. 

"  The  result  is  that  the  end  of  the  finger,  instead 


148  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  healing  over,  grows  into  the  fine  meshes  of  the 
pieces  of  sponge,  by  capillary  attraction.  Of  course 
even  this  would  heal  in  a  few  days,  but  the  doctor 
does  not  let  it  heal.  In  three  days  he  pulls  the 
sponge  off  gently.  The  end  of  the  finger  has  grown 
up  just  a  fraction  of  an  inch.  Then  a  new  thin 
layer  of  sponge  is  added.  Day  after  day  this 
process  is  repeated,  each  time  the  finger  growing  a 
little  more.  A  new  nail  develops  if  any  of  the 
matrix  is  left,  and  I  suppose  a  clever  surgeon  by 
grafting  up  pieces  of  epidermis  could  produce  on 
such  a  stump  very  passable  finger-prints." 

No  one  of  us  said  anything,  but  Kennedy  seemed 
to  realise  the  thought  in  our  minds  and  proceeded 
to  elaborate  the  method. 

"  It  is  known  as  the  4  education  sponge  method,' 
and  was  first  described  by  Dr.  D.  J.  Hamilton,  of 
Edinburgh,  in  1881.  It  has  frequently  been  used 
in  America  since  then.  The  sponge  really  acts  in 
a  mechanical  manner  to  support  the  new  finger-tissue 
that  is  developed.  The  meshes  are  filled  in  by  grow- 
ing tissue,  and  as  it  grows  the  tissue  absorbs  part 
of  the  sponge,  which  is  itself  an  animal  tissue  and 
acts  like  catgut.  Part  of  it  is  also  thrown  off.  In 
fact,  the  sponge  imitates  what  happens  naturally  in 
the  porous  network  of  a  regular  blood-clot.  It 
educates  the  tissue  to  grow,  stimulates  it — new  blood- 
vessels and  nerves  as  well  as  flesh. 

"  In  another  case  I  know  of,  almost  the  whole  of 
the  first  joint  of  a  finger  was  crushed  off,  and  the 
doctor  was  asked  to  amputate  the  stump  of  bone 
that  protruded.  Instead,  he  decided  to  educate  the 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  149 

tissue  to  grow  out  to  cover  it  and  appear  like  a 
normal  finger.  In  these  cases  the  doctors  succeeded 
admirably  in  giving  the  patients  entire  new  finger- 
tips, without  scars,  and,  except  for  the  initial  injury 
and  operation,  with  comparatively  little  inconveni- 
ence except  that  absolute  rest  of  the  hands  was  're- 
quired. 

"  That  is  what  happened,  gentlemen,"  concluded 
Kennedy.  "  That  is  why  Mr.  Forbes,  alias  Wil- 
liams, made  a  trip  to  Philadelphia  to  be  treated — for 
crushed  finger-tips,  not  for  the  kick  of  an  automobile 
engine.  He  may  have  paid  the  doctors  in  counter- 
feits. In  reality  this  man  was  playing  a  game  in 
which  there  was  indeed  a  heavy  stake  at  issue.  He 
was  a  counterfeiter  sought  by  two  governments  with 
the  net  closing  about  him.  What  are  the  tips  of  a 
few  fingers  compared  with  life,  liberty,  wealth,  and 
a  beautiful  woman?  The  first  two  sets  of  prints 
are  different  from  the  third  because  they  are  made 
by  different  finger-tips — on  the  same  man.  The 
very  core  of  the  prints  was  changed.  But  the  finger- 
print system  is  vindicated  by  the  very  ingenuity  of 
the  man  who  so  cleverly  has  contrived  to  beat  it.'* 

"  Very  interesting — to  one  who  is  interested,"  re- 
marked the  stranger,  "  but  what  has  that  to  do  with 
detaining  my  wife  and  myself,  making  us  miss  our 
train,  and  insulting  us?" 

"  just  this,"  replied  Craig.  "  If  you  will  kindly 
oblige  us  by  laying  your  fingers  on  this  inking-pad 
and  then  lightly  on  this  sheet  of  paper,  I  think  I 
can  show  you  an  answer." 

Knight  demurred,  and  his  wife  grew  hysterical 


150  THE  POISONED  PEN 

at  the  idea,  but  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  comply. 
Kennedy  glanced  at  the  fourth  set  of  prints,  then 
at  the  third  set  taken  a  week  ago,  and  smiled.  No 
one  said  a  word.  Knight  or  Williams,  which  was  it? 
He  nonchalantly  lit  a  cigarette. 

"  So  you  say  I  am  this  Williams,  the  counter- 
feiter? "  he  asked  superciliously. 

"  I  do,"  reiterated  Kennedy.  "  You  are  also 
Forbes." 

"  I  don't  suppose  Scotland  Yard  has  neglected  to 
furnish  you  with  photographs  and  a  description  of 
this  Forbes?" 

Burke  reluctantly  pulled  out  a  Bertillon  card  from 
his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  It  bore  the 
front  face  and  profile  of  the  famous  counterfeiter, 
as  well  as  his  measurements. 

The  man  picked  it  up  as  if  indeed  it  was  a  curious 
thing.  His  coolness  nearly  convinced  me.  Surely 
he  should  have  hesitated  in  actually  demanding  this 
last  piece  of  evidence.  I  had  heard,  however,  that 
the  Bertillon  system  of  measurements  often  de- 
pended on  the  personal  equation  of  the  measurer 
as  well  as  on  the  measured.  Was  he  relying  on  that, 
or  on  his  difference  in  features? 

I  looked  over  Kennedy's  shoulder  at  the  card  on 
the  table.  There  was  the  concave  nose  of  the  "  por- 
trait parle  "  of  Forbes,  as  it  had  first  been  described 
to  us.  Without  looking  further  I  involuntarily 
glanced  at  the  man,  although  I  had  no  need  to  do 
so.  I  knew  that  his  nose  was  the  exact  opposite 
of  that  of  Forbes. 

"  Ingenious  at  argument  as  you  are,"  he  remarked 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  151 

quietly,  "  you  will  hardly  deny  that  Knight,  of 
Omaha,  is  the  exact  opposite  of  Forbes,  of  London. 
My  nose  is  almost  Jewish — my  complexion  is  dark 
as  an  Arab's.  Still,  I  suppose  I  am  the  sallow, 
snub-nosed  Forbes  described  here,  inasmuch  as  I 
have  stolen  Forbes's  fingers  and  lost  them  again  by 
a  most  preposterous  method." 

"  The  colour  of  the  face  is  easily  altered,"  said 
Kennedy.  "  A  little  picric  acid  will  do  that.  The 
ingenious  rogue  Sarcey  in  Paris  eluded  the  police 
very  successfully  until  Dr.  Charcot  exposed  him  and 
showed  how  he  changed  the  arch  of  his  eyebrows 
and  the  wrinkles  of  his  face.  Much  is  possible  to- 
day that  would  make  Frankenstein  and  Dr.  Moreau 
look  clumsy  and  antiquated." 

A  sharp  feminine  voice  interrupted.  It  was  the 
woman,  who  had  kept  silent  up  to  this  time.  "  But 
I  have  read  in  one  of  the  papers  this  morning  that 
a  Mr.  Williams  was  found  dead  in  an  automobile 
accident  up  the  Hudson  yesterday.  I  remember 
reading  it,  because  I  am  afraid  of  accidents  myself." 

All  eyes  were  now  fixed  on  Kennedy.  u  That 
body,"  he  answered  quickly,  "  was  a  body  purchased 
by  you  at  a  medical  school,  brought  in  your  car  to 
Riverwood,  dressed  in  Williams's  clothes  with  a 
watch  that  would  show  he  was  Forbes,  placed  on  the 
track  in  front  of  the  auto,  while  you  two  watched 
the  Buffalo  express  run  it  down,  and  screamed.  It 
was  a  clever  scheme  that  you  concocted,  but  these 
facts  do  not  agree." 

He  laid  the  measurements  of  the  corpse  obtained 
by  Burke  and  those  from  the  London  police  card 


i52  THE  POISONED  PEN 

side  by  side.     Only  in  the  roughest  way  did  they 
approximate  each  other. 

"  Your  honour,  I  appeal  to  your  sense  of  justice," 
cried  our  prisoner  impatiently.  "  Hasn't  this  farce 
been  allowed  to  go  far  enough?  Is  there  any  reason 
why  this  fake  detective  should  make  fools  out  of 
us  all  and  keep  my  wife  longer  in  this  court?  I'm 
not  disposed  to  let  the  matter  drop.  I  wish  to  enter 
a  charge  against  him  of  false  arrest  and  malicious 
prosecution.  I  shall  turn  the  whole  thing  over  to 
my  attorney  this  afternoon.  The  deuce  with  the 
races — I'll  have  justice." 

The  man  had  by  this  time  raised  himself  to  a 
high  pitch  of  apparently  righteous  wrath.  He  ad- 
vanced menacingly  toward  Kennedy,  who  stood  with 
his  shoulders  thrown  back,  and  his  hands  deep  in 
his  pockets,  and  a  half  amused  look  on  his  face. 

"  As  for  you,  Mr.  Detective,"  added  the  man, 
"  for  eleven  cents  I'd  lick  you  to  within  an  inch 
of  your  life.  '  Portrait  parle,'  indeed!  It's  a  fine 
scientific  system  that  has  to  deny  its  own  main  prin- 
ciples in  order  to  vindicate  itself.  Bah!  Take 
that,  you  scoundrel !  " 

Harriet  Wollstone  threw  her  arms  about  him, 
but  he  broke  away.  His  fist  shot  out  straight. 
Kennedy  was  too  quick  for  him,  however.  I  had 
seen  Craig  do  it  dozens  of  times  with  the  best  Boxers 
in  the  "  gym."  He  simply  jerked  his  head  to  one 
side,  and  the  blow  passed  just  a  fraction  of  an  inch 
from  his  jaw,  but  passed  it  as  cleanly  as  if  it  had 
been  a  yard  away. 

The  man  lost  his  balance,  and  as  he  fell  forward 


THE  CONFIDENCE  KING  153 

and  caught  himself,  Kennedy  calmly  and  deliberately 
slapped  him  on  the  nose. 

It  was  an  intensely  serious  instant,  yet  I  actually 
laughed.  The  man's  nose  was  quite  out  of  joint, 
even  from  such  a  slight  blow.  It  was  twisted  over 
on  his  face  in  the  most  ludicrous  position  imaginable. 

"  The  next  time  you  try  that,  Forbes,"  remarked 
Kennedy,  as  he  pulled  the  piece  of  paraffin  from 
his  pocket  and  laid  it  on  the  table  with  the  other 
exhibits,  "  don't  forget  that  a  concave  nose  built  out 
to  hook-nose  convexity  by  injections  of  paraffin,  such 
as  the  beauty-doctors  everywhere  advertise,  is  a  poor 
thing  for  a  White  Hope." 

Both  Burke  and  O'Connor  had  seized  Forbes,  but 
Kennedy  had  turned  his  attention  to  the  larger  of 
Forbes's  grips,  which  the  Wollstone  woman  vocifer- 
ously claimed  as  her  own.  Quickly  he  wrenched  it 
open. 

As  he  turned  it  up  on  the  table  my  eyes  fairly 
bulged  at  the  sight.  Forbes'  suit-case  might  have 
been  that  of  a  travelling  salesman  for  the  Kimber- 
ley,  the  Klondike,  and  the  Bureau  of  Engraving,  all 
in  one.  Craig  dumped  the  wealth  out  on  the  table 
— stacks  of  genuine  bills,  gold  coins  of  two  realms, 
diamonds,  pearls,  everything  portable  and  tangible 
all  heaped  up  and  topped  off  with  piles  of  counter- 
feits awaiting  the  magic  touch  of  this  Midas  to  turn 
them  into  real  gold. 

"  Forbes,  you  have  failed  in  your  get-away,"  said 
Craig  triumphantly.  "  Gentlemen,  you  have  here  a 
master  counterfeiter,  surely — a  master  counterfeiter 
of  features  and  fingers  as  well  as  of  currency." 


VI 
THE  SAND-HOG 

"  INTERESTING  story,  this  fight  between  the  Five- 
Borough  and  the  Inter-River  Transit,"  I  remarked 
to  Kennedy  as  I  sketched  out  the  draft  of  an  expose 
of  high  finance  for  the  Sunday  Star. 

"  Then  that  will  interest  you,  also,"  said  he, 
throwing  a  letter  down  on  my  desk.  He  had  just 
come  in  and  was  looking  over  his  mail. 

The  letterhead  bore  the  name  of  the  Five-Borough 
Company.  It  was  from  Jack  Orton,  one  of  our 
intimates  at  college,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  con- 
struction of  a  new  tunnel  under  the  river.  It  was 
brief,  as  Jack's  letters  always  were.  "  I  have  a 
case  here  at  the  tunnel  that  I  am  sure  will  appeal 
to  you,  my  own  case,  too,"  it  read.  "  You  can  go 
as  far  as  you  like  with  it,  but  get  to  the  bottom  of 
the  thing,  no  matter  whom  it  hits.  There  is  some 
deviltry  afoot,  and  apparently  no  one  is  safe.  Don't 
say  a  word  to  anybody  about  it,  but  drop  over  to 
see  me  as  soon  as  you  possibly  can." 

'  Yes,"  I  agreed,  "  that  does  interest  me.  When 
are  you  going  over?" 

"  Now,"  replied  Kennedy,  who  had  not  taken 
off  his  hat.  "  Can  you  come  along?" 

As  we  sped  across  the  city  in  a  taxicab,  Craig 
remarked:  "I  wonder  what  is  the  trouble?  Did 
you  see  in  the  society  news  this  morning  the  an- 

154 


THE  SAND-HOG  155 

nouncement  of  Jack's  engagement  to  Vivian  Taylor, 
the  daughter  of  the  president  of  the  Five-Borough?  " 

I  had  seen  it,  but  could  not  connect  it  with  the 
trouble,  whatever  it  was,  at  the  tunnel,  though  I  did 
try  to  connect  the  tunnel  mystery  with  my  expose. 

We  pulled  up  at  the  construction  works,  and  a 
strapping  Irishman  met  us.  "  Is  this  Professor 
Kennedy?  "  he  asked  of  Craig. 

"  It  is.     Where  is  Mr.  Orton's  office?  " 

"  I'm  afraid,  sir,  it  will  be  a  long  time  before 
Mr.  Orton  is  in  his  office  again,  sir.  The  doctor 
have  just  took  him  out  of  the  medical  lock,  an'  he 
said  if  you  was  to  come  before  they  took  him  to 
the  'orspital  I  was  to  bring  you  right  up  to  the 
lock." 

"  Good  heavens,  man,  what  has  happened?  "  ex- 
claimed Kennedy.  "  Take  us  up  to  him  quick." 

Without  waiting  to  answer,  the  Irishman  led  the 
way  up  and  across  a  rough  board  platform  until 
at  last  we  came  to  what  looked  like  a  huge  steel 
cylinder,  lying  horizontally,  in  which  was  a  floor 
with  a  cot  and  some  strange  paraphernalia.  On  the 
cot  lay  Jack  Orton,  drawn  and  contorted,  so  changed 
that  even  his  own  mother  would  scarcely  have  recog- 
nised him.  A  doctor  was  bending  over  him,  mas- 
saging the  joints  of  his  legs  and  his  side. 

"  Thank  you,  Doctor,  I  feel  a  little  better,"  he 
groaned.  "  No,  I  don't  want  to  go  back  into  the 
lock  again,  not  unless  the  pain  gets  worse." 

His  eyes  were  closed,  but  hearing  us  he  opened 
them  and  nodded. 

"  Yes,  Craig,"  he  murmured  with  difficulty,  "  this 


156  THE  POISONED  PEN 

is  Jack  Orton.  What  do  you  think  of  me?  I'm 
a  pretty  sight.  How  are  you?  And  how  are  you, 
Walter?  Not  too  vigorous  with  the  hand-shakes, 
fellows.  Sorry  you  couldn't  get  over  before  this 
happened." 

"What's  the  matter?"  we  asked,  glancing 
blankly  from  Orton  to  the  doctor. 

Orton  forced  a  half  smile.  "  Just  a  touch  of 
the  '  bends  '  from  working  in  compressed  air,"  he 
explained. 

We  looked  at  him,  but  could  say  nothing.  I,  at 
least,  was  thinking  of  his  engagement. 

"  Yes,"  he  added  bitterly,  "  I  know  what  you 
are  thinking  about,  fellows.  Look  at  me !  Do  you 
think  such  a  wreck  as  I  am  now  has  any  right  to 
be  engaged  to  the  dearest  girl  in  the  world?  " 

**  Mr.  Orton,"  interposed  the  doctor,  "  I  think 
you'll  feel  better  if  you'll  keep  quiet.  You  can  see 
your  friends  in  the  hospital  to-night,  but  for  a  few 
hours  I  think  you  had  better  rest.  Gentlemen,  if 
you  will  be  so  good  as  to  postpone  your  conversa- 
tion with  Mr.  Orton  until  later  it  would  be  much 
better." 

"  Then  I'll  see  you  to-night,"  said  Orton  to  us 
feebly.  Turning  to  a  tall,  spare,  wiry  chap,  of  just 
the  build  for  tunnel  work,  where  fat  is  fatal,  he 
added:  "  This  is  Mr.  Capps,  my  first  assistant.  He 
will  show  you  the  way  down  to  the  street  again." 

"  Confound  it!  "  exclaimed  Craig,  after  we  had 
left  Capps.  "What  do  you  think  of  this?  Even 
before  we  can  get  to  him  something  has  happened. 
The  plot  thickens  before  we  are  well  into  it.  I 


THE  SAND-HOG  157 

think  I'll  not  take  a  cab,  or  a  car  either.     How  are 
you  for  a  walk  until  we  can  see  Orton  again?  " 

I  could  see  that  Craig  was  very  much  affected 
by  the  sudden  accident  that  had  happened  to  our 
friend,  so  I  fell  into  his  mood,  and  we  walked  block 
after  block  scarcely  exchanging  a  word.  His  only 
remark,  I  recall,  was,  "  Walter,  I  can't  think  it  was 
an  accident,  coming  so  close  after  that  letter."  As 
for  me,  I  scarcely  knew  what  to  think. 

At  last  our  walk  brought  us  around  to  the  private 
hospital  where  Orton  was.  As  we  were  about  to 
enter,  a  very  handsome  girl  was  leaving.  Evidently 
she  had  been  visiting  some  one  of  whom  she  thought 
a  great  deal.  Her  long  fur  coat  was  flying  care- 
lessly, unfastened  in  the  cold  night  air;  her  features 
were  pale,  and  her  eyes  had  the  fixed  look  of  one 
who  saw  nothing  but  grief. 

"  It's  terrible,  Miss  Taylor,"  I  heard  the  man 
with  her  say  soothingly,  "  and  you  must  know  that 
I  sympathise  with  you  a  great  deal." 

<  Looking  up  quickly,  I  caught  sight  of  Capps  and 
bowed.  He  returned  our  bows  and  handed  her 
gently  into  an  automobile  that  was  waiting. 

"  He  might  at  least  have  introduced  us,"  muttered 
Kennedy,  as  we  went  on  into  the  hospital. 

Orton  was  lying  in  bed,  white  and  worn,  propped 
up  by  pillows  which  the  nurse  kept  arranging  and 
rearranging  to  ease  his  pain.  The  Irishman  whom 
we  had  seen  at  the  tunnel  was  standing  deferentially 
near  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  Quite  a  number  of  visitors,  nurse,  for  a  new 
patient,"  said  Orton,  as  he  welcomed  us.  "  First 


158  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Capps  and  Paddy  from  the  tunnel,  then  Vivian  " — 
he  was  fingering  some  beautiful  roses  in  a  vase  on 
a  table  near  him — "  and  now,  you  fellows.  I  sent 
her  home  with  Capps.  She  oughtn't  to  be  out  alone 
at  this  hour,  and  Capps  is  a  good  fellow.  She's 
known  him  a  long  time.  No,  Paddy,  put  down  your 
hat.  I  want  you  to  stay.  Paddy,  by  the  way,  fel- 
lows, is  my  right-hand  man  in  managing  the  '  sand- 
hogs  '  as  we  call  the  tunnel-workers.  He  has  been 
a  sand-hog  on  every  tunnel  job  about  the  city  since 
the  first  successful  tunnel  was  completed.  His  real 
name  is  Flanagan,  but  we  all  know  him  best  as 
Paddy." 

Paddy  nodded.  "  If  I  ever  get  over  this  and 
back  to  the  tunnel,"  Orton  went  on,  "  Paddy  will 
stick  to  me,  and  we  will  show  Taylor,  my  prospective 
father-in-law  and  the  president  of  the  railroad  com- 
pany from  which  I  took  this  contract,  that  I  am  not 
to  blame  for  all  the  troubles  we  are  having  on  the 
tunnel.  Heaven  knows  that " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Orton,  you  ain't  so  bad,"  put  in  Paddy 
without  the  faintest  touch  of  undue  familiarity. 
"  Look  what  I  was  when  ye  come  to  see  me  when 
I  had  the  bends,  sir." 

'  You  old  rascal,"  returned  Orton,  brightening 
up.  "  Craig,  do  you  know  how  I  found  him? 
Crawling  over  the  floor  to  the  sink  to  pour  the 
doctor's  medicine  down." 

"  Think  I'd  take  that  medicine,"  explained  Paddy, 
hastily.  "  Not  much.  Don't  I  know  that  the  only 
cure  for  the  bends  is  bein'  put  back  in  the  '  air '  in 
the  medical  lock,  same  as  they  did  with  you,  and 


THE  SAND-HOG  159 

bein'  brought  out  slowly?  That's  the  cure,  that, 
an'  grit,  an'  patience,  an'  time.  Mark  me  wurds, 
gintlemen,  he'll  finish  that  tunnel  an'  beggin'  yer 
pardon,  Mr.  Orton,  marry  that  gurl,  too.  Didn't 
I  see  her  with  tears  in  her  eyes  right  in  this  room 
when  he  wasn't  lookin',  and  a  smile  when  he  was? 
Sure,  ye'll  be  all  right,"  continued  Paddy,  slapping 
his  side  and  thigh.  "  We  all  get  the  bends  more 
or  less — all  us  sand-hogs.  I  was  that  doubled  up 
meself  that  I  felt  like  a  big  jack-knife.  Had  it  in 
the  arm,  the  side,  and  the  leg  all  at  once,  that  time 
he  was  just  speakin'  of.  He'll  be  all  right  in  a 
couple  more  weeks,  sure,  an'  down  in  the  air  again, 
too,  with  the  rest  of  his  men.  It's  somethin'  else 
he  has  on  his  moind." 

"  Then  the  case  has  nothing  to  do  with  your 
trouble,  nothing  to  do  with  the  bends?"  asked 
Kennedy,  keenly  showing  his  anxiety  to  help  our 
old  friend. 

"  Well,  it  may  and  it  may  not,"  replied  Orton 
thoughtfully.  "  I  begin  to  think  it  has.  We  have 
had  a  great  many  cases  of  the  bends  among  the 
men,  and  lots  of  the  poor  fellows  have  died,  too. 
You  know,  of  course,  how  the  newspapers  are  roast- 
ing us.  We  are  being  called  inhuman;  they  are  go- 
ing to  investigate  us;  perhaps  indict  me.  Oh,  it's 
an  awful  mess ;  and  now  some  one  is  trying  to  make 
Taylor  believe  it  is  my  fault. 

"  Of  course,"  he  continued,  "  we  are  working 
under  a  high  air-pressure  just  now,  some  days  as 
high  as  forty  pounds.  You  see,  we  have  struck 
the  very  worst  part  of  the  job,  a  stretch  of  quick- 


160  THE  POISONED  PEN 

sand  in  the  river-bed,  and  if  we  can  get  through  this 
we'll  strike  pebbles  and  rock  pretty  soon,  and  then 
we'll  be  all  right  again." 

He  paused.  Paddy  quietly  put  in :  "  Beggin'  yer 
pardon  again,  Mr.  Orton,  but  we  had  intirely  too 
many  cases  of  the  bends  even  when  we  were  wurkin' 
at  low  pressure,  in  the  rock,  before  we  sthruck  this 
sand.  There's  somethin'  wrong,  sir,  or  ye  wouldn't 
be  here  yerself  like  this.  The  bends  don't  sthrike 
the  ingineers,  them  as  don't  do  the  hard  work,  sir, 
and  is  careful,  as  ye  know — not  often." 

"  It's  this  way,  Craig,"  resumed  Orton.  "  When 
I  took  this  contract  for  the  Five-Borough  Transit 
Company,  they  agreed  to  pay  me  liberally  for  it, 
with  a  big  bonus  if  I  finished  ahead  of  time,  and  a 
big  penalty  if  I  exceeded  the  time.  You  may  or 
may  not  know  it,  but  there  is  some  doubt  about  the 
validity  of  their  franchise  after  a  certain  date,  pro- 
vided the  tunnel  is  not  ready  for  operation.  Well, 
to  make  a  long  story  short,  you  know  there  are  rival 
companies  that  would  like  to  see  the  work  fail  and 
the  franchise  revert  to  the  city,  or  at  least  get  tied 
up  in  the  courts.  I  took  it  with  the  understanding 
that  it  was  every  man  for  himself  and  the  devil  take 
the  hindmost." 

"  Have  you  yourself  seen  any  evidences  of  rival 
influences  hindering  the  work?  "  asked  Kennedy. 

Orton  carefully  weighed  his  reply.  "  To  begin 
with,"  he  answered  at  length,  "  while  I  was  pushing 
the  construction  end,  the  Five-Borough  was  work- 
ing with  the  state  legislature  to  get  a  bill  extending 
the  time-limit  of  the  franchise  another  year.  Of 


THE  SAND-HOG  161 

course,  if  it  had  gone  through  it  would  have  been 
fine  for  us.  But  some  unseen  influence  blocked  the 
company  at  every  turn.  It  was  subtle ;  it  never  came 
into  the  open.  They  played  on  public  opinion  as 
only  demagogues  of  high  finance  can,  very  plausibly 
of  course,  but  from  the  most  selfish  and  ulterior 
motives.  The  bill  was  defeated." 

I  nodded.  I  knew  all  about  that  part  of  it,  for 
it  was  in  the  article  which  I  had  been  writing  for 
the  Star. 

"  But  I  had  not  counted  on  the  extra  year,  any- 
how," continued  Orton,  "  so  I  wasn't  disappointed. 
My  plans  were  laid  for  the  shorter  time  from  the 
start.  I  built  an  island  in  the  river  so  that  we  could 
work  from  each  shore  to  it,  as  well  as  from  the 
island  to  each  shore,  really  from  four  points  at  once. 
And  then,  when  everything  was  going  ahead  fine, 
and  we  were  actually  doubling  the  speed  in  this 
way,  these  confounded  accidents  " — he  was  leaning 
excitedly  forward — "  and  lawsuits  and  delays  and 
deaths  began  to  happen." 

Orton  sank  back  as  a  paroxysm  of  the  bends 
seized  him,  following  his  excitement. 

"  I  should  like  very  much  to  go  down  into  the 
tunnel,"  said  Kennedy  simply. 

"  No  sooner  said  than  done,"  replied  Orton,  al- 
most cheerfully,  at  seeing  Kennedy  so  interested. 
"  We  can  arrange  that  easily.  Paddy  will  be  glad 
to  do  the  honours  of  the  place  in  my  absence." 

"  Indade  I  will  do  that  same,  sor,"  responded 
the  faithful  Paddy,  "  an'  it's  a  shmall  return  for 
all  ye've  done  for  me." 


1 62  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Very  well,  then,"  agreed  Kennedy.  "  To- 
morrow morning  we  shall  be  on  hand.  Jack,  de- 
pend on  us.  We  will  do  our  level  best  to  get  you 
out  of  this  scrape." 

"  I  knew  you  would,  Craig,"  he  replied.  "  I've 
read  of  some  of  your  and  Walter's  exploits.  You're 
a  pair  of  bricks,  you  are.  Good-bye,  fellows,"  and 
his  hands  mechanically  sought  the  vase  of  flowers 
which  reminded  him  of  their  giver. 

At  home  we  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence.  "  By 
George,  Craig,"  I  exclaimed  at  length,  my  mind 
reverting  through  the  whirl  of  events  to  the  glimpse 
of  pain  I  had  caught  on  the  delicate  face  of  the  girl 
leaving  the  hospital,  "  Vivian  Taylor  is  a  beauty, 
though,  isn't  she?  " 

"  And  Capps  thinks  so,  too,"  he  returned,  sink- 
ing again  into  his  shell  of  silence.  Then  he  sud- 
denly rose  and  put  on  his  hat  and  coat.  I  could 
see  the  old  restless  fever  for  work  which  came  into 
his  eyes  whenever  he  had  a  case  which  interested 
him  more  than  usual.  I  knew  there  would  be  no 
rest  for  Kennedy  until  he  had  finished  it.  More- 
over, I  knew  it  was  useless  for  me  to  remonstrate 
with  him,  so  I  kept  silent. 

"  Don't  wait  up  for  me,"  he  said.  "  I  don't 
know  when  I'll  be  back.  I'm  going  to  the  labora- 
tory and  the  university  library.  Be  ready  early  in 
the  morning  to  help  me  delve  into  this  tunnel  mys- 
tery." 

I  awoke  to  find  Kennedy  dozing  in  a  chair,  partly 
dressed,  but  just  as  fresh  as  I  was  after  my  sleep. 
I  think  he  had  been  dreaming  out  his  course  of 


THE  SAND-HOG  163 

action.  At  any  rate,  breakfast  was  a  mere  incident 
in  his  scheme,  and  we  were  over  at  the  tunnel  works 
when  the  night  shift  were  going  off. 

Kennedy  carried  with  him  a  moderate-sized  box 
of  the  contents  of  which  he  seemed  very  careful. 
Paddy  was  waiting  for  us,  and  after  a  hasty  whis- 
pered conversation,  Craig  stowed  the  box  away  be- 
hind the  switchboard  of  the  telephone  central,  after 
attaching  it  to  the  various  wires.  Paddy  stood 
guard  while  this  was  going  on  so  that  no  one  would 
know  about  it,  not  even  the  telephone  girl,  whom 
he  sent  off  on  an  errand. 

Our  first  inspection  was  of  that  part  of  the  works 
which  was  above  ground.  Paddy,  who  conducted 
us,  introduced  us  first  to  the  engineer  in  charge  of 
this  part  of  the  work,  a  man  named  Shelton,  who 
had  knocked  about  the  world  a  great  deal,  but  had 
acquired  a  taciturnity  that  was  Sphinxlike.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  Paddy,  I  fear  we  should  have 
seen  very  little,  for  Shelton  was  not  only  secretive, 
but  his  explanations  were  such  that  even  the  editor 
of  a  technical  journal  would  have  had  to  blue  pencil 
them  considerably.  However,  we  gained  a  pretty 
good  idea  of  the  tunnel  works  above  ground — at 
least  Kennedy  did.  He  seemed  very  much  inter- 
ested in  how  the  air  was  conveyed  below  ground, 
the  tank  for  storing  compressed  air  for  emergencies, 
and  other  features.  It  quite  won  Paddy,  although 
Shelton  seemed  to  resent  his  interest  even  more 
than  he  despised  my  ignorance. 

Next  Paddy  conducted  us  to  the  dressing-rooms. 
There  we  put  on  old  clothes  and  oilskins,  and  the 


1 64  THE  POISONED  PEN 

tunnel  doctor  examined  us  and  extracted  a  written 
statement  that  we  went  down  at  our  own  risk  and 
released  the  company  from  all  liability — much  to 
the  disgust  of  Paddy. 

"  We're  ready  now,  Mr.  Capps,"  called  Paddy, 
opening  an  office  door  on  the  way  out. 

"  Very  well,  Flanagan,"  answered  Capps,  barely 
nodding  to  us.  We  heard  him  telephone  some  one, 
but  could  not  catch  the  message,  and  in  a  minute 
he  joined  us.  By  this  time  I  had  formed  the 
opinion,  which  I  have  since  found  to  be  correct,  that 
tunnel  men  are  not  as  a  rule  loquacious. 

It  was  a  new  kind  of  thrill  to  me  to  go  under  the 
"  air,"  as  the  men  called  it.  With  an  instinctive 
last  look  at  the  skyline  of  New  York  and  the  waves 
playing  in  the  glad  sunlight,  we  entered  a  rude  con- 
struction elevator  and  dropped  from  the  surface  to 
the  bottom  of  a  deep  shaft.  It  was  like  going  down 
into  a  mine.  There  was  the  air-lock,  studded  with 
bolts,  and  looking  just  like  a  huge  boiler,  turned 
horizontally. 

The  heavy  iron  door  swung  shut  with  a  bang  as 
Paddy  and  Capps,  followed  by  Kennedy  and  myself, 
crept  into  the  air-lock.  Paddy  turned  on  a  valve, 
and  compressed  air  from  the  tunnel  began  to  rush 
in  with  a  hiss  as  of  escaping  steam.  Pound  after 
pound  to  the  square  inch  the  pressure  slowly  rose 
until  I  felt  sure  the  drums  of  my  ears  would  burst. 
Then  the  hissing  noise  began  to  dwindle  down  to 
a  wheeze,  and  then  it  stopped  all  of  a  sudden. 
That  meant  that  the  air-pressure  in  the  lock  was 
the  same  as  that  in  the  tunnel.  Paddy  pushed  open 


THE  SAND-HOG  165 

the  door  in  the  other  end  of  the  lock  from  that  by 
which  we  had  entered. 

Along  the  bottom  of  the  completed  tube  we  fol- 
lowed Paddy  and  Capps.  On  we  trudged,  fanned 
by  the  moist  breath  of  the  tunnel.  Every  few  feet 
an  incandescent  light  gleamed  in  the  misty  darkness. 
After  perhaps  a  hundred  paces  we  had  to  duck  down 
under  a  semicircular  partition  covering  the  upper 
half  of  the  tube. 

"  What  is  that?  "  I  shouted  at  Paddy,  the  nasal 
ring  of  my  own  voice  startling  me. 

"  Emergency  curtain,"  he  shouted  back. 

Words  were  economised.  Later,  I  learned  that 
should  the  tunnel  start  to  flood,  the  other  half  of 
the  emergency  curtain  could  be  dropped  so  as  to 
cut  off  the  inrushing  water. 

Men  passed,  pushing  little  cars  full  of  "  muck  " 
or  sand  taken  out  from  before  the  "  shield  " — which 
is  the  head  by  which  this  mechanical  mole  advances 
under  the  river-bed.  These  men  and  others  who 
do  the  shovelling  are  the  "  muckers." 

Pipes  laid  along  the  side  of  the  tunnel  conducted 
compressed  air  and  fresh  water,  while  electric  light 
and  telephone  wires  were  strung  all  about.  These 
and  the  tools  and  other  things  strewn  along  the 
tunnel  obstructed  the  narrow  passage  to  such  an 
extent  that  we  had  to  be  careful  in  picking  our  way. 

At  last  we  reached  the  shield,  and  on  hands  and 
knees  we  crawled  out  into  one  of  its  compartments. 
Here  we  experienced  for  the  first  time  the  weird 
realisation  that  only  the  "  air  "  stood  between  us 
and  destruction  from  the  tons  and  tons  of  sand  and 


1 66  THE  POISONED  PEN 

water  overhead.  At  some  points  in  the  sand  we 
could  feel  the  air  escaping,  which  appeared  at  the 
surface  of  the  river  overhead  in  bubbles,  indicating 
to  those  passing  in  the  river  boats  just  how  far  each 
tunnel  heading  below  had  proceeded.  When  the 
loss  of  air  became  too  great,  I  learned,  scows  would 
dump  hundreds  of  tons  of  clay  overhead  to  make 
an  artificial  river  bed  for  the  shield  to  stick  its  nose 
safely  through,  for  if  the  river  bed  became  too 
thin  overhead  the  "  air  "  would  blow  a  hole  in  it. 

Capps,  it  seemed  to  me,  was  unusually  anxious 
to  have  the  visit  over.  At  any  rate,  while  Kennedy 
and  Paddy  were  still  crawling  about  the  shield,  he 
stood  aside,  now  and  then  giving  the  men  an  order 
and  apparently  forgetful  of  us. 

My  own  curiosity  was  quickly  satisfied,  and  I  sat 
down  on  a  pile  of  the  segments  out  of  which  the 
successive  rings  of  the  tunnel  were  made.  As  I  sat 
there  waiting  for  Kennedy,  I  absently  reached  into 
my  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  cigarette  and  lighted 
it.  It  burned  amazingly  fast,  as  if  it  were  made 
of  tinder,  the  reason  being  the  excess  of  oxygen 
in  the  compressed  air.  I  was  looking  at  it  in  aston- 
ishment, when  suddenly  I  felt  a  blow  on  my  hand. 
It  was  Capps. 

"You  chump!"  he  shouted  as  he  ground  the 
cigarette  under  his  boot.  "  Don't  you  know  it  is 
dangerous  to  smoke  in  compressed  air?" 

"  Why,  no,"  I  replied,  smothering  my  anger  at 
his  manner.  "  No  one  said  anything  about  it." 

"  Well,  it  is  dangerous,  and  Orton's  a  fool  to 
let  greenhorns  come  in  here." 


THE  SAND-HOG  167 

"And  to  whom  may  it  be  dangerous?"  I  heard 
a  voice  inquire  over  my  shoulder.  It  was  Kennedy. 
"  To  Mr.  Jameson  or  the  rest  of  us?  " 

'  Well,"  answered  Capps,  "  I  supposed  everybody 
knew  it  was  reckless,  and  that  he  would  hurt  himself 
more  by  one  smoke  in  the  air  than  by  a  hundred 
up  above.  That's  all." 

He  turned  on  Kennedy  sullenly,  and  started  to 
walk  back  up  the  tunnel.  But  I  could  not  help 
thinking  that  his  manner  was  anything  but  solicitude 
for  my  own  health.  I  could  just  barely  catch  his 
words  over  the  tunnel  telephone  some  feet  away. 
I  thought  he  said  that  everything  was  going  along 
all  right  and  that  he  was  about  to  start  back  again. 
Then  he  disappeared  in  the  mist  of  the  tube  without 
even  nodding  a  farewell. 

Kennedy  and  I  remained  standing,  not  far  from 
the  outlet  of  the  pipe  by  which  the  compressed  air 
was  being  supplied  in  the  tunnel  from  the  com- 
pressors above,  in  order  to  keep  the  pressure  up 
to  the  constant  level  necessary.  I  saw  Kennedy  give 
a  hurried  glance  about,  as  if  to  note  whether  any 
one  were  looking  at  us.  No  one  was.  With  a 
quick  motion  he  reached  down.  In  his  hand  was  a 
stout  little  glass  flask  with  a  tight-fitting  metal  top. 
For  a  second  he  held  it  near  the  outlet  of  the  pipe; 
then  he  snapped  the  top  shut  and  slipped  it  back 
into  his  pocket  as  quickly  as  he  had  produced  it. 

Slowly  we  commenced  to  retrace  our  steps  to  the 
air-lock,  our  curiosity  satisfied  by  this  glimpse  of 
one  of  the  most  remarkable  developments  of  modern 
engineering. 


1 68  THE  POISONED  PEN 

a  Where's  Paddy?  "  asked  Kennedy,  stopping  sud- 
denly. "  We've  forgotten  him." 

"  Back  there  at  the  shield,  I  suppose,"  said  I. 
"  Let's  whistle  and  attract  his  attention." 

I  pursed  up  my  lips,  but  if  I  had  been  whistling 
for  a  million  dollars  I  couldn't  have  done  it. 

Craig  laughed.  ;<  Walter,  you  are  indeed  learn- 
ing many  strange  things.  You  can't  whistle  in  com- 
pressed air." 

I  was  too  chagrined  to  answer.  First  it  was 
Capps;  now  it  was  my  own  friend  Kennedy  chaffing 
me  for  my  ignorance.  I  was  glad  to  see  Paddy's 
huge  form  looming  in  the  semi-darkness.  He  had 
seen  that  we  were  gone  and  hurried  after  us. 

"  Won't  ye  stay  down  an'  see  some  more,  gintle- 
men?  "  he  asked.  "  Or  have  ye  had  enough  of  the 
air?  It  seems  very  smelly  to  me  this  mornin' — I 
don't  blame  ye.  I  guess  them  as  doesn't  have  to 
stay  here  is  satisfied  with  a  few  minutes  of  it." 

"  No,  thanks,  I  guess  we  needn't  stay  down  any 
longer,"  replied  Craig.  "  I  think  I  have  seen  all 
that  is  necessary — at  least  for  the  present.  Capps 
has  gone  out  ahead  of  us.  I  think  you  can  take 
us  out  now,  Paddy.  I  would  much  rather  have  you 
do  it  than  to  go  with  anybody  else." 

Coming  out,  I  found,  was  really  more  dangerous 
than  going  in,  for  it  is  while  coming  out  of  the 
"  air "  that  men  are  liable  to  get  the  bends. 
Roughly,  half  a  minute  should  be  consumed  in  com- 
ing out  from  each  pound  of  pressure,  though  for 
such  high  pressures  as  we  had  been  under,  consider- 
ably more  time  was  required  in  order  to  do  it  safely. 


THE  SAND-HOG  169 

We  spent  about  half  an  hour  in  the  air-lock,  I 
should  judge. 

Paddy  let  the  air  out  of  the  lock  by  turning  on 
a  valve  leading  to  the  outside,  normal  atmosphere. 
Thus  he  let  the  air  out  rapidly  at  first  until  we  had 
got  down  to  half  the  pressure  of  the  tunnel.  The 
second  half  he  did  slowly,  and  it  was  indeed  tedious, 
but  it  was  safe.  There  was  at  first  a  hissing  sound 
when  he  opened  the  valve,  and  it  grew  colder  in  the 
lock,  since  air  absorbs  heat  from  surrounding  ob- 
jects when  it  expands.  We  were  glad  to  draw 
sweaters  on  over  our  heads.  It  also  grew  as  misty 
a's  a  London  fog  as  the  water-vapour  in  the  air  was 
condensed. 

At  last  the  hiss  of  escaping  air  ceased.  The  door 
to  the  modern  dungeon  of  science  grated  open.  We 
walked  out  of  the  lock  to  the  elevator  shaft  and 
were  hoisted  up  to  God's  air  again.  We  gazed 
out  across  the  river  with  its  waves  dancing  in  the 
sunlight.  There,  out  in  the  middle,  was  a  wreath 
of  bubbles  on  the  water.  That  marked  the  end  of 
the  tunnel,  over  the  shield.  Down  beneath  those 
bubbles  the  sand-hogs  were  rooting.  But  what  was 
the  mystery  that  the  tunnel  held  in  its  dark.,  dank 
bosom?  Had  Kennedy  a  clue? 

"  I  think  we  had  better  wait  around  a  bit,"  re- 
marked Kennedy,  as  we  sipped  our  hot  coffee  in 
the  dressing-room  and  warmed  ourselves  from  the 
chill  of  coming  out  of  the  lock.  "  In  case  anything 
should  happen  to  us  and  we  should  get  the  bends, 
this  is  the  place  for  us,  near  the  medical  lock,  as 
it  is  called — that  big  steel  cylinder  over  there,  where 


170  THE  POISONED  PEN 

we  found  Orton.  The  best  cure  for  the  bends  is  to 
go  back  under  the  air — recompression  they  call  it. 
[The  renewed  pressure  causes  the  gas  in  the  blood 
to  contract  again,  and  thus  it  is  eliminated — some- 
times. At  any  rate,  it  is  the  best-known  cure  and 
considerably  reduces  the  pain  in  the  worst  cases. 
When  you  have  a  bad  case  like  Orton's  it  means 
that  the  damage  is  done ;  the  gas  has  ruptured  some 
veins.  Paddy  was  right.  Only  time  will  cure 
that." 

Nothing  happened  to  us,  however,  and  in  a  couple 
of  hours  we  dropped  in  on  Orton  at  the  hospital 
where  he  was  slowly  convalescing. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  case?"  he  asked 
anxiously. 

"  Nothing  as  yet,"  replied  Craig,  "  but  I  have 
set  certain  things  in  motion  which  will  give  us  a 
pretty  good  line  on  what  is  taking  place  in  a  day 
or  so." 

Orton's  face  fell,  but  he  said  nothing.  He  bit 
his  lip  nervously  and  looked  out  of  the  sun-parlour 
at  the  roofs  of  New  York  around  him. 

"  What  has  happened  since  last  night  to  increase 
your  anxiety,  Jack?  "  asked  Craig  sympathetically. 

Orton  wheeled  his  chair  about  slowly,  faced  us, 
and  drew  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  Laying  it  flat 
on  the  table  he  covered  the  lower  part  with  the 
envelope. 

"  Read  that,"  he  said. 

"  Dear  Jack,"  it  began.  I  saw  at  once  that  it 
was  from  Miss  Taylor.  "  Just  a  line,"  she  wrote, 
"  to  let  you  know  that  I  am  thinking  about  you 


THE  SAND-HOG  171 

always  and  hoping  that  you  are  better  than  when 
I  saw  you  this  evening.  Papa  had  the  chairman 
of  the  board  of  directors  of  the  Five-Borough  here 
late  to-night,  and  they  were  in  the  library  for  over 
an  hour.  For  your  sake,  Jack,  I  played  the  eaves- 
dropper, but  they  talked  so  low  that  I  could  hear 
nothing,  though  I  know  they  were  talking  about  you 
and  the  tunnel.  When  they  came  out,  I  had  no 
time  to  escape,  so  I  slipped  behind  a  portiere.  I 
heard  father  say:  '  Yes,  I  guess  you  are  right,  Mor- 
ris. The  thing  has  gone  on  long  enough.  If  there 
is  one  more  big  accident  we  shall  have  to  compro- 
mise with  the  Inter-River  and  carry  on  the  work 
jointly.  We  have  given  Orton  his  chance,  and  if 
they  demand  that  this  other  fellow  shall  be  put  in, 
I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  concede  it.'  Mr.  Morris 
seemed  pleased  that  father  agreed  with  him  and 
said  so.  Ob,  Jack,  can't  you  do  something  to  show 
them  they  are  wrong,  and  do  it  quickly?  I  never 
miss  an  opportunity  of  telling  papa  it  is  not  your 
fault  that  all  these  delays  take  place." 

The  rest  of  the  letter  was  covered  by  the  envelope, 
and  Orton  would  not  have  shown  it  for  worlds. 

"  Orton,"  said  Kennedy,  after  a  few  moments' 
reflection,  "  I  will  take  a  chance  for  your  sake — a 
long  chance,  but  I  think  a  good  one.  If  you  can 
pull  yourself  together  by  this  afternoon,  be  over  at 
your  office  at  four.  Be  sure  to  have  Shelton  and 
Capps  there,  and  you  can  tell  Mr.  Taylor  that  you 
have  something  very  important  to  set  before  him. 
Now,  I  must  hurry  if  I  am  to  fulfil  my  part  of  the 
contract.  Good-bye,  Jack.  Keep  a  stiff  upper  lip, 


172  THE  POISONED  PEN 

old  man.  I'll  have  something  that  will  surprise 
you  this  afternoon." 

Outside,  as  he  hurried  uptown,  Craig  was  silent, 
but  I  could  see  his  features  working  nervously,  and 
as  we  parted  he  merely  said:  "  Of  course,  you'll  be 
there,  Walter.  I'll  put  the  finishing  touches  on  your 
story  of  high  finance." 

Slowly  enough  the  few  hours  passed  before  I 
found  myself  again  in  Orton's  office.  He  was  there 
already,  despite  the  orders  of  his  physician,  who 
was  disgusted  at  this  excursion  from  the  hospital. 
Kennedy  was  there,  too,  grim  and  silent.  We  sat 
watching  the  two  indicators  beside  Orton's  desk, 
which  showed  the  air  pressure  in  the  two  tubes. 
The  needles  were  vibrating  ever  so  little  and  trac- 
ing a  red-ink  line  on  the  ruled  paper  that  unwound 
from  tlie  drum.  From  the  moment  the  tunnels  were 
started,  here  was  preserved  a  faithful  record  of 
every  slightest  variation  of  air  pressure. 

"  Telephone  down  into  the  tube  and  have  Capps 
come  up,"  said  Craig  at  length,  glancing  at  Orton's 
desk  clock.  "  Taylor  will  be  here  pretty  soon,  and 
I  want  Capps  to  be  out  of  the  tunnel  by  the  time 
he  comes.  Then  get  Shelton,  too." 

In  response  to  Orton's  summons  Capps  and  Shel- 
ton came  into  the  office,  just  as  a  large  town  car 
pulled  up  outside  the  tunnel  works.  A  tall,  dis- 
tinguished-looking man  stepped  out  and  turned  again 
toward  the  door  of  the  car. 

"  There's  Taylor,"  I  remarked,  for  I  had  seen 
him  often  at  investigations  before  the  Public  Service 
Commission. 


THE  SAND-HOG  173 

"  And  Vivian,  too,"  exclaimed  Orton  excitedly. 
"  Say,  fellows,  clear  off  these  desks.  Quick,  before 
she  gets  up  here.  In  the  closet  with  these  blue- 
prints, Walter.  There,  that's  a  little  better.  If  I 
had  known  she  was  coming  I  would  at  least  have 
had  the  place  swept  out.  Puff !  look  at  the  dust  on 
this  desk  of  mine.  Well,  there's  no  help  for  it. 
There  they  are  at  the  door  now.  Why, Vivian,  what 
a  surprise." 

"Jack!  "  she  exclaimed,  almost  ignoring  the  rest 
of  us  and  quickly  crossing  to  his  chair  to  lay  a 
restraining  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  he  vainly  tried 
to  stand  up  to  welcome  her. 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  coming?  " 
he  asked  eagerly.  "  I  would  have  had  the  place 
fixed  up  a  bit." 

"  I  prefer  it  this  way,"  she  said,  looking  curiously 
around  at  the  samples  of  tunnel  paraphernalia  and 
the  charts  and  diagrams  on  the  walls. 

"  Yes,  Orton,"  said  President  Taylor,  "  she  would 
come — dropped  in  at  the  office  and  when  I  tried  to 
excuse  myself  for  a  business  appointment,  demanded 
which  way  I  was  going.  When  I  said  I  was  coming 
here,  she  insisted  on  coming,  too." 

Orton  smiled.  He  knew  that  she  had  taken  this 
simple  and  direct  means  of  being  there,  but  he  said 
nothing,  and  merely  introduced  us  to  the  president 
and  Miss  Taylor. 

An  awkward  silence  followed.  Orton  cleared  his 
throat.  "  I  think  you  all  know  why  we  are  here," 
he  began.  "  We  have  been  and  are  having  alto- 
gether too  many  accidents  in  the  tunnel,  too  many 


174  THE  POISONED  PEN 

cases  of  the  bends,  too  many  deaths,  too  many  de- 
lays to  the  work.  Well — er — I — er — Mr.  Kennedy 
has  something  to  say  about  them,  I  believe." 

No  sound  was  heard  save  the  vibration  of  the 
air-compressors  and  an  occasional  shout  of  a  work- 
man at  the  shaft  leading  down  to  the  air-locks. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  say  anything  about 
caisson  disease  to  you,  gentlemen,  or  to  you,  Miss 
Taylor,"  began  Kennedy.  "  I  think  you  all  know 
how  it  is  caused  and  a  good  deal  about  it  already. 
But,  to  be  perfectly  clear,  I  will  say  that  there  are 
five  things  that  must,  above  all  others,  be  looked 
after  in  tunnel  work:  the  air  pressure,  the  amount 
of  carbon  dioxide  in  the  air,  the  length  of  the  shifts 
which  the  men  work,  the  state  of  health  of  the  men 
as  near  as  physical  examination  can  determine  it, 
and  the  rapidity  with  which  the  men  come  out  of  the 
1  air,'  so  as  to  prevent  carelessness  which  may  cause 
the  bends. 

"  I  find,"  he  continued,  "  that  the  air  pressure  is 
not  too  high  for  safety.  Proper  examinations  for 
carbon  dioxide  are  made,  and  the  amount  in  the  air 
is  not  excessive.  The  shifts  are  not  even  as  long 
as  those  prescribed  by  the  law.  The  medical  in- 
spection is  quite  adequate  and  as  for  the  time  taken 
in  coming  out  through  the  locks  the  rules  are 
stringent." 

A  look  of  relief  crossed  the  face  of  Orton  at  this 
commendation  of  his  work,  followed  by  a  puzzled 
expression  that  plainly  indicated  that  he  would  like 
to  know  what  was  the  matter,  if  all  the  crucial  things 
were  all  right. 


THE  SAND-HOG  175 

"  But,"  resumed  Kennedy,  "  the  bends  are  still 
hitting  the  men,  and  there  is  no  telling  when  a  fire 
or  a  blow-out  may  occur  in  any  of  the  eight  headings 
that  are  now  being  pushed  under  the  river.  Quite 
often  the  work  has  been  delayed  and  the  tunnel 
partly  or  wholly  flooded.  Now,  you  know  the 
theory  of  the  bends.  It  is  that  air — mostly  the 
nitrogen  in  the  air — is  absorbed  by  the  blood  under 
the  pressure.  In  coming  out  of  the  '  air '  if  the 
nitrogen  is  not  all  eliminated,  it  stays  in  the  blood 
and,  as  the  pressure  is  reduced,  it  expands.  It  is 
just  as  if  you  take  a  bottle  of  charged  water  and 
pull  the  cork  suddenly.  The  gas  rises  in  big  bubbles. 
Cork  it  again  and  the  gas  bubbles  cease  to  rise  and 
finally  disappear.  If  you  make  a  pin-hole  in  the 
cork  the  gas  will  escape  slowly,  without  a  bubble. 
You  must  decompress  the  human  body  slowly,  by 
stages,  to  let  the  super-saturated  blood  give  up  its 
nitrogen  to  the  lungs,  which  can  eliminate  it.  Other- 
wise these  bubbles  catch  in  the  veins,  and  the  result 
is  severe  pains,  paralysis,  and  even  death.  Gentle- 
men, I  see  that  I  am  just  wasting  time  telling  you 
this,  for  you  know  it  all  well.  But  consider." 

Kennedy  placed  an  empty  corked  flask  on  the 
table.  The  others  regarded  it  curiously,  but  I  re- 
called having  seen  it  in  the  tunnel. 

"  In  this  bottle,"  explained  Kennedy,  "  I  collected 
some  of  the  air  from  the  tunnel  when  I  was  down 
there  this  morning.  I  have  since  analysed  it.  The 
quantity  of  carbon  dioxide  is  approximately  what  it 
should  be — not  high  enough  of  itself  to  cause  trouble. 
But,"  he  spoke  slowly  to  emphasise  his  words,  "  I 


176  THE  POISONED  PEN 

found  something  else  in  that  air  beside  carbon  diox- 
ide." 

"Nitrogen?"  broke  in  Orton  quickly,  leaning 
forward. 

"  Of  course;  it  is  a  constituent  of  air.  But  that 
is  not  what  I  mean." 

'  Then,  for  Heaven's  sake,  what  did  you  find?  " 
asked  Orton. 

"  I  found  in  this  air,"  replied  Kennedy,  "  a  very 
peculiar  mixture — an  explosive  mixture." 

"An  explosive  mixture?"  echoed  Orton. 

"  Yes,  Jack,  the  blow-outs  that  you  have  had  at 
the  end  of  the  tunnel  were  not  blow-outs  at  all, 
properly  speaking.  They  were  explosions." 

We  sat  aghast  at  this  revelation. 

"  And,  furthermore,"  added  Kennedy,  "  I  should, 
if  I  were  you,  call  back  all  the  men  from  the  tunnel 
until  the  cause  for  the  presence  of  this  explosive 
mixture  is  discovered  and  remedied." 

Orton  reached  mechanically  for  the  telephone  to 
give  the  order,  but  Taylor  laid  his  hand  on  his  arm. 
"  One  moment,  Orton,"  he  said.  "  Let's  hear  Pro- 
fessor Kennedy  out.  He  may  be  mistaken,  and 
there  is  no  use  frightening  the  men,  until  we  are 
certain." 

"  Shelton,"  asked  Kennedy,  "  what  sort  of  flash 
oil  is  used  to  lubricate  the  machinery?  " 

"  It  is  three-hundred-and-sixty-degree  Fahrenheit 
flash  test,"  he  answered  tersely. 

"  And  are  the  pipes  leading  air  down  into  the 
tunnel  perfectly  straight?" 

"Straight?" 


THE  SAND-HOG  177 

1  Yes,  straight — no  joints,  no  pockets  where  oil, 
moisture,  and  gases  can  collect." 

"  Straight  as  lines,  Kennedy,"  he  said  with  a  sort 
of  contemptuous  defiance. 

They  were  facing  each  other  coldly,  sizing  each 
other  up.  Like  a  skilful  lawyer,  Kennedy  dropped 
that  point  for  a  moment,  to  take  up  a  new  line  of 
attack. 

"  Capps,"  he  demanded,  turning  suddenly,  "  why 
do  you  always  call  up  on  the  telephone  and  let  some 
one  know  when  you  are  going  down  in  the  tunnel 
and  when  you  are  coming  out?  " 

"  I  don't,"  replied  Capps,  quickly  recovering  his 
composure. 

"  Walter,"  said  Craig  to  me  quietly,  "  go  out  in 
the  outer  office.  Behind  the  telephone  switchboard 
you  will  find  a  small  box  which  you  saw  me  carry 
in  there  this  morning  and  connect  with  the  switch- 
board. Detach  the  wires,  as  you  saw  me  attach 
them,  and  bring  it  here." 

No  one  moved,  as  I  placed  the  box  on  a  drafting- 
table  before  them.  Craig  opened  it.  Inside  he 
disclosed  a  large  disc  of  thin  steel,  like  those  used 
by  some  mechanical  music-boxes,  only  without  any 
perforations.  He  connected  the  wires  from  the 
box  to  a  sort  of  megaphone.  Then  he  started  the 
disc  revolving. 

Out  of  the  little  megaphone  horn,  sticking  up  like 
a  miniature  talking-machine,  came  a  voice:  "Num- 
ber please.  Four  four  three  o,  Yorkville.  Busy, 
I'll  call  you.  Try  them  again,  Central.  Hello, 
hello,  Central " 


178  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Kennedy  stopped  the  machine.  "  It  must  be 
further  along  on  the  disc,"  he  remarked.  "  This, 
by  the  way,  is  an  instrument  known  as  the  telegra- 
phone,  invented  by  a  Dane  named  Poulsen.  It  re- 
cords conversations  over  a  telephone  on  this  plain 
metal  disc  by  means  of  localised,  minute  electric 
charges." 

Having  adjusted  the  needle  to  another  place  on 
the  disc  he  tried  again.  "  We  have  here  a  record 
of  the  entire  day's  conversations  over  the  telephone, 
preserved  on  this  disc.  I  could  wipe  out  the  whole 
thing  by  pulling  a  magnet  across  it,  but,  needless  to 
say,  I  wouldn't  do  that — yet.  Listen." 

This  time  it  was  Capps  speaking.  "  Give  me 
Mr.  Shelton.  Oh,  Shelton,  I'm  going  down  in  the 
south  tube  with  those  men  Orton  has  sent  nosing 
around  here.  I'll  let  you  know  when  I  start  up 
again.  Meanwhile — you  know — don't  let  anything 
happen  while  I  am  there.  Good-bye." 

Capps  sat  looking  defiantly  at  Kennedy,  as  he 
stopped  the  telegraphone. 

"  Now,"  continued  Kennedy  suavely,  "  what  could 
happen?  I'll  answer  my  own  question  by  telling 
what  actually  did  happen.  Oil  that  was  smoky  at 
a  lower  point  than  its  flash  was  being  used  in  the 
machinery — not  really  three-hundred-and-sixty-de- 
gree  oil.  The  water-jacket  had  been  tampered  with, 
too.  More  than  that,  there  is  a  joint  in  the  pipe 
leading  down  into  the  tunnel,  where  explosive  gases 
can  collect.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  in  the  use  of 
compressed  air  that  such  a  condition  is  the  best 
possible  way  to  secure  an  explosion. 


THE  SAND-HOG  179 

"  It  would  all  seem  so  natural,  even  if  discov- 
ered," explained  Kennedy  rapidly.  "  The  smoking 
oil — smoking  just  as  an  automobile  often  does — is 
passed  into  the  compressed-air  pipe.  Condensed  oil, 
moisture,  and  gases  collect  in  the  joint,  and  perhaps 
they  line  the  whole  distance  of  the  pipe.  A  spark 
from  the  low-grade  oil — and  they  are  ignited.  What 
takes  place  is  the  same  thing  that  occurs  in  the  cyl- 
inder of  an  automobile  where  the  air  is  compressed 
with  gasoline  vapour.  Only  here  we  have  com- 
pressed air  charged  with  vapour  of  oil.  The  flame 
proceeds  down  the  pipe — exploding  through  the  pipe, 
if  it  happens  to  be  not  strong  enough.  This  pipe, 
however,  is  strong.  Therefore,  the  flame  in  this 
case  shoots  out  at  the  open  end  of  the  pipe,  down 
near  the  shield,  and  if  the  air  in  the  tunnel  happens 
also  to  be  surcharged  with  oil-vapour,  an  explosion 
takes  place  in  the  tunnel — the  river  bottom  is  blown 
out — then  God  help  the  sand-hogs ! 

"  That's  how  your  accidents  took  place,  Orton," 
concluded  Kennedy  in  triumph,  "  and  that  impure 
air — not  impure  from  carbon  dioxide,  but  from  this 
oil-vapour  mixture — increased  the  liability  of  the 
men  for  the  bends.  Capps  knew  about  it.  He  was 
careful  while  he  was  there  to  see  that  the  air  was 
made  as  pure  as  possible  under  the  circumstances. 
He  was  so  careful  that  he  wouldn't  even  let  Mr. 
Jameson  smoke  in  the  tunnel.  But  as  soon  as  he 
went  to  the  surface,  the  same  deadly  mixture  was 
pumped  down  again — I  caught  some  of  it  in  this 
flask,  and " 

"  My    God,    Paddy's    down    there   now,"    cried 


i8o  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Orton,  suddenly  seizing  his  telephone.  "  Operator, 
give  me  the  south  tube — quick — what — they  don't 
answer? " 

Out  in  the  river  above  the  end  of  the  heading, 
where  a  short  time  before  there  had  been  only  a 
few  bubbles  on  the  surface  of  the  water,  I  could 
see  what  looked  like  a  huge  geyser  of  water  spout- 
ing up.  I  pulled  Craig  over  to  me  and  pointed. 

"  A  blow-out,"  cried  Kennedy,  as  he  rushed  to 
the  door,  only  to  be  met  by  a  group  of  blanched- 
faced  workers  who  had  come  breathless  to  the  office 
to  deliver  the  news. 

Craig  acted  quickly.  "  Hold  these  men,"  he 
ordered,  pointing  to  Capps  and  Shelton,  "  until  we 
come  back.  Orton,  while  we  are  gone,  go  over  the 
entire  day's  record  on  the  telegraphone.  I  suspect 
you  and  Miss  Taylor  will  find  something  there  that 
will  interest  you." 

He  sprang  down  the  ladder  to  the  tunnel  air-lock, 
not  waiting  for  the  elevator.  In  front  of  the  closed 
door  of  the  lock,  an  excited  group  of  men  was 
gathered.  One  of  them  was  peering  through  the 
dim,  thick,  glass  porthole  in  the  door. 

"  There  he  is,  standin'  by  the  door  with  a  club, 
an'  the  men's  crowdin'  so  fast  that  they're  all  wedged 
so's  none  can  get  in  at  all.  He's  beatin'  'em  back 
with  the  stick.  Now,  he's  got  the  door  clear  and 
has  dragged  one  poor  fellow  in.  It's  Jimmy 
Rourke,  him  with  the  eight  childer.  Now  he's 
dragged  in  a  Polack.  Now  he's  fightin'  back  a  big 
Jamaica  nigger  who's  tryin'  to  shove  ahead  of  a 
little  Italian." 


THE  SAND-HOG  181 

"  It's  Paddy,"  cried  Craig.  "  If  he  can  bring 
them  all  out  safely  without  the  loss  of  a  life  he'll 
save  the  day  yet  for  Orton.  And  he'll  do  it,  too, 
Walter." 

Instantly  I  reconstructed  in  my  mind  the  scene 
in  the  tunnel — the  explosion  of  the  oil-vapour,  the 
mad  race  up  the  tube,  perhaps  the  failure  of  the 
emergency  curtain  to  work,  the  frantic  efforts  of  the 
men,  in  panic,  all  to  crowd  through  the  narrow  little 
door  at  once;  the  rapidly  rising  water — and  above 
all  the  heroic  Paddy,  cool  to  the  last,  standing  at 
the  door  and  single-handed  beating  the  men  back 
with  a  club,  so  that  they  could  go  through  one  at  a 
time. 

Only  when  the  water  had  reached  the  level  of 
the  door  of  the  lock,  did  Paddy  bang  it  shut  as  he 
dragged  the  last  man  in.  Then  followed  an  in- 
terminable wait  for  the  air  in  the  lock  to  be  ex- 
hausted. When,  at  last,  the  door  at  our  end  of  the 
lock  swung  open,  the  men  with  a  cheer  seized  Paddy 
and,  in  spite  of  his  struggles,  hoisted  him  on  to  their 
shoulders,  and  carried  him  off,  still  struggling,  in 
triumph  up  the  construction  elevator  to  the  open  air 
above. 

The  scene  in  Orton's  office  was  dramatic  as  the 
men  entered  with  Paddy.  Vivian  Taylor  was  stand- 
ing defiantly,  with  burning  eyes,  facing  Capps,  who 
stared  sullenly  at  the  floor  before  him.  Shelton  was 
plainly  abashed. 

"  Kennedy,"  cried  Orton,  vainly  trying  to  rise, 
"  listen.  Have  you  still  that  place  on  the  telegra- 
phone  record,  Vivian?  " 


1 82  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Miss  Taylor  started  the  telegraphone,  while  we 
all  crowded  around  leaning  forward  eagerly. 

"Hello.  Inter-River?  Is  this  the  president's 
office?  Oh,  hello.  This  is  Capps  talking.  How 
are  you?  Oh,  you've  heard  about  Orton,  have 
you?  Not  so  bad,  eh?  Well,  I'm  arranging  with 
my  man  Shelton  here  for  the  final  act  this  afternoon. 
After  that  you  can  compromise  with  the  Five- 
Borough  on  your  own  terms.  I  think  I  have  argued 
Taylor  and  Morris  into  the  right  frame  of  mind  for 
it,  if  we  have  one  more  big  accident.  What's  that? 
How  is  my  love  affair?  Well,  Orton's  in  the  way 
yet,  but  you  know  why  I  went  into  this  deal.  When 
you  put  me  into  his  place  after  the  compromise, 
I  think  I  will  pull  strong  with  her.  Saw  her  last 
night.  She  feels  pretty  bad  about  Orton,  but  she'll 
get  over  it.  Besides,  the  pater  will  never  let  her 
marry  a  man  who's  down  and  out.  By  the  way, 
you've  got  to  do  something  handsome  for  Shelton. 
All  right.  I'll  see  you  to-night  and  tell  you  some 
more.  Watch  the  papers  in  the  meantime  for  the 
grand  finale.  Good-bye." 

An  angry  growl  rose  from  one  or  two  of  the 
more  quick-witted  men.  Kennedy  reached  over  and 
pulled  me  with  him  quickly  through  the  crowd. 

"  Hurry,  Walter,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  hustle 
Shelton  and  Capps  out  quick  before  the  rest  of  the 
men  wake  up  to  what  it's  all  about,  or  we  shall 
have  a  lynching  instead  of  an  arrest." 

As  we  shoved  and  pushed  them  out,  I  saw  the 
rough  and  grimy  sand-hogs  in  the  rear  move  quickly 
aside,  and  off  came  their  muddy,  frayed  hats.  A 


THE  SAND-HOG  183 

dainty  figure  flitted  among  them  toward  Orton.     It 
was  Vivian  Taylor. 

"  Papa,"  she  cried,  grasping  Jack  by  both  hands 
and  turning  to  Taylor,  who  followed  her  closely, 
"  Papa,  I  told  you  not  to  be  too  hasty  with  Jack." 


VII 
THE  WHITE  SLAVE 

KENNEDY  and  I  had  just  tossed  a  coin  to  decide 
whether  it  should  be  a  comic  opera  or  a  good  walk 
in  the  mellow  spring  night  air  and  the  opera  had 
won,  but  we  had  scarcely  begun  to  argue  the  vital 
point  as  to  where  to  go,  when  the  door  buzzer 
sounded — a  sure  sign  that  some  box-office  had  lost 
four  dollars. 

It  was  a  much  agitated  middle-aged  couple  who 
entered  as  Craig  threw  open  the  door.  Of  our 
two  visitors,  the  woman  attracted  my  attention  first, 
for  on  her  pale  face  the  lines  of  sorrow  were  almost 
visibly  deepening.  Her  nervous  manner  interested 
me  greatly,  though  I  took  pains  to  conceal  the  fact 
that  I  noticed  it.  It  was  quickly  accounted  for, 
however,  by  the  card  which  the  man  presented, 
bearing  the  name  "  Mr.  George  Gilbert "  and  a 
short  scribble  from  First  Deputy  O'Connor: 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  desire  to  consult  you  with  regard 
to  the  mysterious  disappearance  of  their  daughter,  Georgette. 
I  am  sure  I  need  say  nothing  further  to  interest  you  than 
that  the  M.  P.  Squad  is  completely  baffled. 

O'CONNOR. 

UH — m,"  remarked  Kennedy;  "not  strange  for 
the  Missing  Persons  Squad  to  be  baffled — at  least, 
at  this  case." 

184 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  185 

'  Then  you  know  of  our  daughter's  strange — er 
— departure?"  asked  Mr.  Gilbert,  eagerly  scanning 
Kennedy's  face  and  using  a  euphemism  that  would 
fall  less  harshly  on  his  wife's  ears  than  the  truth. 

"  Indeed,  yes,"  nodded  Craig  with  marked  sym- 
pathy: "that  is,  I  have  read  most  of  what  the 
papers  have  said.  Let  me  introduce  my  friend, 
Mr.  Jameson.  You  recall  we  were  discussing  the 
Georgette  Gilbert  case  this  morning,  Walter?" 

I  did,  and  perhaps  before  I  proceed  further  with 
the  story  I  should  quote  at  least  the  important  parts 
of  the  article  in  the  morning  Star  which  had  occa- 
sioned the  discussion.  The  article  had  been  headed, 
"  When  Personalities  Are  Lost,"  and  with  the  Gil- 
bert case  as  a  text  many  instances  had  been  cited 
which  had  later  been  solved  by  the  return  of  the 
memory  of  the  sufferer.  In  part  the  article  had 
said: 


Mysterious  disappearances,  such  as  that  of  Georgette  Gil- 
bert, have  alarmed  the  public  and  baffled  the  police  before 
this,  disappearances  that  in  their  suddenness,  apparent  lack 
of  purpose,  and  inexplicability,  have  had  much  in  common 
with  the  case  of  Miss  Gilbert. 

Leaving  out  of  account  the  class  of  disappearances  such 
as  embezzlers,  blackmailers,  and  other  criminals,  there  is  still 
a  large  number  of  recorded  cases  where  tite  subjects  have 
dropped  out  of  sight  without  apparent  cause  or  reason  and 
have  left  behind  them  untarnished  reputations.  Of  these  a 
small  percentage  are  found  to  have  met  with  violence; 
others  have  been  victims  of  a  suicidal  mania;  and  sooner  or 
later  a  clue  has  come  to  light,  for  the  dead  are  often  easier 
to  find  than  the  living.  Of  the  remaining  small  proportion 
there  are  on  record  a  number  of  carefully  authenticated  cases 


1 86  THE  POISONED  PEN 

where  the  subjects  have  been  the  victims  of  a  sudden  and 
complete  loss  of  memory. 

This  dislocation  of  memory  is  a  variety  of  aphasia  known 
as  amnesia,  and  when  the  memory  is  recurrently  lost  and 
restored  it  is  an  "  alternating  personality."  The  psychical 
researchers  and  psychologists  have  reported  many  cases  of 
alternating  personality.  Studious  efforts  are  being  made  to 
understand  and  to  explain  the  strange  type  of  mental  phe- 
nomena exhibited  in  these  cases,  but  no  one  has  as  yet  given 
a  final,  clear,  and  comprehensive  explanation  of  them.  Such 
cases  are  by  no  means  always  connected  with  disappearances, 
but  the  variety  known  as  the  ambulatory  type,  where  the 
patient  suddenly  loses  all  knowledge  of  his  own  identity 
and  of  his  past  and  takes  himself  off,  leaving  no  trace  or 
clue,  is  the  variety  which  the  present  case  calls  to  popular 
attention. 

Then  followed  a  list  of  a  dozen  or  so  interesting 
cases  of  persons  who  had  vanished  completely  and 
had,  some  several  days  and  some  even  years  later, 
suddenly  "  awakened  "  to  their  first  personality,  re- 
turned, and  taken  up  the  thread  of  that  personality 
where  it  had  been  broken. 

To  Kennedy's  inquiry  I  was  about  to  reply  that 
I  recalled  the  conversation  distinctly,  when  Mr.  Gil- 
bert shot  an  inquiring  glance  from  beneath  his  bushy 
eyebrows,  quickly  shifting  from  my  face  to  Ken- 
nedy's, and  asked,  "  And  what  was  your  conclusion 
— what  do  you  think  of  the  case?  Is  it  aphasia 
or  amnesia,  or  whatever  the  doctors  call  it,  and  do 
you  think  she  is  wandering  about  somewhere  un- 
able to  recover  her  real  personality?" 

"  I  should  like  to  have  all  the  facts  at  first  hand 
before  venturing  an  opinion,"  Craig  replied  with 
precisely  that  shade  of  hesitancy  that  mieht  reas- 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  187 

sure  the  anxious  father  and  mother,  without  raising 
a  false  hope. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gilbert  exchanged  glances,  the  pur- 
port of  which  was  that  she  desired  him  to  tell  the 
story. 

"  It  was  day  before  yesterday,"  began  Mr.  Gil- 
bert, gently  touching  his  wife's  trembling  hand  that 
sought  his  arm  as  he  began  rehearsing  the  tragedy 
that  had  cast  its  shadow  across  their  lives,  "  Thurs- 
day, that  Georgette — er — since  we  have  heard  of 
Georgette."  His  voice  faltered  a  bit,  but  he  pro- 
ceeded: "As  you  know,  she  was  last  seen  walking 
on  Fifth  Avenue.  The  police  have  traced  her  since 
she  left  home  that  morning.  It  is  known  that  she 
went  first  to  the  public  library,  then  that  she  stopped 
at  a  department  store  on  the  avenue,  where  she  made 
a  small  purchase  which  she  had  charged  to  our 
family  account,  and  finally  that  she  went  to  a  large 
book-store.  Then — that  is  the  last." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  sighed,  and  buried  her  face  in  a 
lace  handkerchief  as  her  shoulders  shook  convul- 
sively. 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  that,"  repeated  Kennedy 
gently,  though  with  manifest  eagerness  to  get  down 
to  facts  that  might  prove  more  illuminating.  "  I 
think  I  need  hardly  impress  upon  you  the  advan- 
tage of  complete  frankness,  the  fact  that  anything 
you  may  tell  me  is  of  a  much  more  confidential 
nature  than  if  it  were  told  to  the  police.  Er — r, 
had  Miss  Gilbert  any — love  affair,  any  trouble  of 
such  a  nature  that  it  might  have  preyed  on  her 
mind?" 


1 88  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Kennedy's  tactful  manner  seemed  to  reassure  both 
the  father  and  the  mother,  who  exchanged  another 
glance. 

"  Although  we  have  said  no  to  the  reporters," 
Mrs.  Gilbert  replied  bravely  in  answer  to  the  nod 
of  approval  from  her  husband,  and  much  as  if  she 
herself  were  making  a  confession  for  them  both,  "  I 
fear  that  Georgette  had  had  a  love  affair.  No 
doubt  you  have  heard  hints  of  Dudley  Lawton's 
name  in  connection  with  the  case?  I  can't  imagine 
how  they  could  have  leaked  out,  for  I  should  have 
said  that  that  old  affair  had  long  since  been  for- 
gotten even  by  the  society  gossips.  The  fact  is  that 
shortly  after  Georgette  '  came  out,'  Dudley  Lawton, 
who  is  quite  on  the  road  to  becoming  one  of  the 
rather  notorious  members  of  the  younger  set,  be- 
gan to  pay  her  marked  attentions.  He  is  a  fasci- 
nating, romantic  sort  of  fellow,  one  that,  I  imagine, 
possesses  much  attraction  for  a  girl  who  has  been 
brought  up  as  simply  as  Georgette  was,  and  who 
has  absorbed  a  surreptitious  diet  of  modern  litera- 
ture such  as  we  now  know  Georgette  did.  I  sup- 
pose you  have  seen  portraits  of  Georgette  in  the 
newspapers  and  know  what  a  dreamy  and  artistic 
nature  her  face  indicates?" 

Kennedy  nodded.  It  is,  of  course,  one  of  the 
cardinal  tenets  of  journalism  that  all  women  are 
beautiful,  but  even  the  coarse  screen  of  the  ordinary 
newspaper  half-tone  had  not  been  able  to  conceal 
the  rather  exceptional  beauty  of  Miss  Georgette 
Gilbert.  If  it  had,  all  the  shortcomings  of  the 
newspaper  photographic  art  would  have  been 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  189 

quickly  glossed  over  by  the  almost  ardent  descrip- 
tions by  those  ladies  of  the  press  who  come  along 
about  the  second  day  after  an  event  of  this  kind 
with  signed  articles  analysing  the  character  and 
motives,  the  life  and  gowns  of  the  latest  actors  in 
the  front-page  stories. 

"  Naturally  both  my  husband  and  myself  opposed 
his  attentions  from  the  first.  It  was  a  hard  struggle, 
for  Georgette,  of  course,  assumed  the  much-injured 
air  of  some  of  the  heroines  of  her  favourite  novels. 
But  I,  at  least,  believed  that  we  had  won  and  that 
Georgette  finally  was  brought  to  respect  and,  I 
hoped,  understand  our  wishes  in  the  matter.  I  be- 
lieve so  yet.  Mr.  Gilbert  in  a  roundabout  way 
came  to  an  understanding  with  old  Mr.  Dudley 
Lawton,  who  possesses  a  great  influence  over  his 
son,  and — well,  Dudley  Lawton  seemed  to  have 
passed  out  of  Georgette's  life.  I  believed  so  then, 
at  least,  and  I  see  no  reason  for  not  believing  so 
yet.  I  feel  that  you  ought  to  know  this,  but  really 
I  don't  think  it  is  right  to  say  that  Georgette  had 
a  love  affair.  I  should  rather  say  that  she  had  had 
a  love  affair,  but  that  it  had  been  forgotten,  perhaps 
a  year  ago." 

Mrs.  Gilbert  paused  again,  and  it  was  evident 
that  though  she  was  concealing  nothing  she  was 
measuring  her  words  carefully  in  order  not  to  give 
a  false  impression. 

"  What  does  Dudley  Lawton  say  about  the  news- 
papers bringing  his  name  into  the  case?"  asked 
Kennedy,  addressing  Mr.  Gilbert. 

"  Nothing,"  replied  he.     "  He  denies  that  he  has 


190  THE  POISONED  PEN 

even  spoken  to  her  for  nearly  a  year.  Apparently  he 
has  no  interest  in  the  case.  And  yet  I  cannot  quite 
believe  that  Lawton  is  as  uninterested  as  he  seems. 
I  know  that  he  has  often  spoken  about  her  to  mem- 
bers of  the  Cosmos  Club  where  he  lives,  and  that 
he  reads  practically  everything  that  the  newspapers 
print  about  the  case." 

"  But  you  have  no  reason  to  think  that  there  has 
ever  been  any  secret  communication  between  them? 
Miss  Georgette  left  no  letters  or  anything  that 
would  indicate  that  her  former  infatuation  sur- 
vived?" 

"  None  whatever,"  repeated  Mr.  Gilbert  emphat- 
ically. "  We  have  gone  over  her  personal  effects 
very  carefully,  and  I  can't  say  they  furnish  a  clue. 
In  fact,  there  were  very  few  letters.  She  rarely 
kept  a  letter.  Whether  it  was  merely  from  habit 
or  for  some  purpose,  I  can't  say." 

"  Besides  her  liking  for  Dudley  Lawton  and  her 
rather  romantic  nature,  there  are  no  other  things 
in  her  life  that  would  cause  a  desire  for  freedom?  " 
asked  Kennedy,  much  as  a  doctor  might  test  the 
nerves  of  a  patient.  "  She  had  no  hobbies?  " 

"  Beyond  the  reading  of  some  books  which  her 
mother  and  I  did  not  altogether  approve  of,  I  should 
say  no — no  hobbies." 

*'  So  far,  I  suppose,  it  is  true  that  neither  you 
nor  the  police  have  received  even  a  hint  as  to  where 
she  went  after  leaving  the  book-store?  " 

"  Not  a  hint.  She  dropped  out  as  completely  as 
if  the  earth  had  swallowed  her." 

"  Mrs.   Gilbert,"   said  Kennedy,   as  our  visitors 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  191 

rose  to  go,  "  you  may  rest  assured  that  if  it  is 
humanly  possible  to  find  your  daughter  I  shall  leave 
no  stone  unturned  until  I  have  probed  to  the  bottom 
of  this  mystery.  I  have  seldom  had  a  case  that 
hung  on  more  slender  threads,  yet  if  I  can  weave 
other  threads  to  support  it  I  feel  that  we  shall  soon 
find  that  the  mystery  is  not  so  baffling  as  the  Missing 
Persons  Squad  has  found  it  so  far." 

Scarcely  had  the  Gilberts  left  when  Kennedy  put 
on  his  hat,  remarking:  "We'll  at  least  get  our 
walk,  if  not  the  show.  Let's  stroll  around  to  the 
Cosmos  Club.  Perhaps  we  may  catch  Lawton  in." 

Luckily  we  chanced  to  find  him  there  in  the  read- 
ing-room. Lawton  was,  as  Mrs.  Gilbert  had  said, 
a  type  that  is  common  enough  in  New  York  and 
is  very  fascinating  to  many  girls.  In  fact,  he  was 
one  of  those  fellows  whose  sins  are  readily  for- 
given because  they  are  always  interesting.  Not  a 
few  men  secretly  admire  though  publicly  execrate  the 
Lawton  type. 

I  say  we  chanced  to  find  him  in.  That  was  about 
all  we  found.  Our  interview  was  most  unsatisfac- 
tory. For  my  part,  I  could  not  determine  whether 
he  was  merely  anxious  to  avoid  any  notoriety  in 
connection  with  the  case  or  whether  he  was  con- 
cealing something  that  might  compromise  himself. 

"  Really,  gentlemen,"  he  drawled,  puffing  lan- 
guidly on  a  cigarette  and  turning  slowly  toward  the 
window  to  watch  the  passing  throng  under  the  lights 
of  the  avenue,  "  really  I  don't  see  how  I  can  be 
of  any  assistance.  You  see,  except  for  a  mere  pass- 
ing acquaintance  Miss  Gilbert  and  I  had  drifted 


192  THE  POISONED  PEN 

entirely  apart — entirely  apart — owing  to  circum- 
stances over  which  I,  at  least,  had  no  control." 

"  I  thought  perhaps  you  might  have  heard  from 
her  or  about  her,  through  some  mutual  friend," 
remarked  Kennedy,  carefully  concealing  under  his 
nonchalance  what  I  knew  was  working  in  his  mind 
— a  belief  that,  after  all,  the  old  attachment  had 
not  been  so  dead  as  the  Gilberts  had  fancied. 

"  No,  not  a  breath,  either  before  this  sad  occur- 
rence or,  of  course,  after.  Believe  me,  if  I  could 
add  one  fact  that  would  simplify  the  search  for 
Georgette — ah,  Miss  Gilbert — ah — I  would  do  so 
in  a  moment,"  replied  Lawton  quickly,  as  if  desirous 
of  getting  rid  of  us  as  soon  as  possible.  Then 
perhaps  as  if  regretting  the  brusqueness  with  which 
he  had  tried  to  end  the  interview,  he  added,  "  Don't 
misunderstand  me.  The  moment  you  have  discov- 
ered anything  that  points  to  her  whereabouts,  let 
me  know  immediately.  You  can  count  on  me — pro- 
vided you  don't  get  me  into  the  papers.  Good- 
night, gentlemen.  I  wish  you  the  best  of  success." 

"  Do  you  think  he  could  have  kept  up  the  ac- 
quaintance secretly?  "  I  asked  Craig  as  we  walked 
up  the  avenue  after  this  baffling  interview.  "  Could 
he  have  cast  her  off  when  he  found  that  in  spite 
of  her  parents'  protests  she  was  still  in  his  power?  " 

"  It's  impossible  to  say  what  a  man  of  Dudley 
Lawton's  type  could  do,"  mused  Kennedy,  "  for  the 
simple  reason  that  he  himself  doesn't  know  until 
he  has  to  do  it.  Until  we  have  more  facts,  any- 
thing is  both  possible  and  probable." 

[There  was  nothing  more  that  could  be  done  that 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  193 

night,  though  after  our  walk  we  sat  up  for  an 
hour  or  two  discussing  probabilities.  It  did  not 
take  me  long  to  reach  the  end  of  my  imagination 
and  give  up  the  case,  but  Kennedy  continued  to 
revolve  the  matter  in  his  mind,  looking  at  it  from 
every  angle  and  calling  upon  all  the  vast  store  of 
information  that  he  had  treasured  up  in  that  marvel- 
lous brain  of  his,  ready  to  be  called  on  almost  as 
if  his  mind  were  card-indexed. 

"  Murders,  suicides,  robberies,  and  burglaries  are, 
after  all,  pretty  easily  explained,"  he  remarked,  after 
a  long  period  of  silence  on  my  part,  "  but  the  sud- 
den disappearance  of  people  out  of  the  crowded 
city  into  nowhere  is  something  that  is  much  harder 
to  explain.  And  it  isn't  so  difficult  to  disappear 
as  some  people  imagine,  either.  You  remember  the 
case  of  the  celebrated  Arctic  explorer  whose  picture 
had  been  published  scores  of  times  in  every  illus- 
trated paper.  He  had  no  trouble  in  disappearing 
and  then  reappearing  later,  when  he  got  ready. 

'  Yet  experience  has  taught  me  that  there  is 
always  a  reason  for  disappearances.  It  is  our  next 
duty  to  discover  that  reason.  Still,  it  won't  do  to 
say  that  disappearances  are  not  mysterious.  Dis- 
appearances except  for  money  troubles  are  all  mys- 
terious. The  first  thing  in  such  a  case  is  to  dis- 
cover whether  the  person  has  any  hobbies  or  habits 
or  fads.  That  is  what  I  tried  to  find  out  from  the 
Gilberts.  I  can't  tell  yet  whether  I  succeeded." 

Kennedy  took  a  pencil  and  hastily  jotted  down 
something  on  a  piece  of  paper  which  he  tossed  over 
to  me.  It  read: 


194  THE  POISONED  PEN 

1.  Love,  family  trouble. 

2.  A  romantic  disposition. 

3.  Temporary  insanity,  self-destruction. 

4.  Criminal  assault. 

5.  Aphasia. 

6.  Kidnapping. 

"  Those  are  the  reasons  why  people  disappear, 
eliminating  criminals  and  those  who  have  financial 
difficulties.  Dream  on  that  and  see  if  you  can  work 
out  the  answer  in  your  subliminal  consciousness. 
Good-night." 

Needless  to  say,  I  was  no  further  advanced  in 
the  morning  than  at  midnight,  but  Kennedy  seemed 
to  have  evolved  at  least  a  tentative  programme.  It 
started  with  a  visit  to  the  public  library,  where  he 
carefully  went  over  the  ground  already  gone  over 
by  the  police.  Finding  nothing,  he  concluded  that 
Miss  Gilbert  had  not  found  what  she  wanted  at  the 
library  and  had  continued  the  quest,  even  as  he  was 
continuing  the  quest  of  herself. 

His  next  step  was  to  visit  the  department-store. 
The  purchase  had  been  an  inconsequential  affair  of 
half  a  dozen  handkerchiefs,  to  be  sent  home.  This 
certainly  did  not  look  like  a  premeditated  disappear- 
ance; but  Craig  was  proceeding  on  the  assumption 
that  this  purchase  indicated  nothing  except  that 
there  had  been  a  sale  of  handkerchiefs  which  had 
caught  her  eye.  Having  stopped  at  the  library  first 
and  a  book-shop  afterward,  he  assumed  that  she  had 
also  visited  the  book-department  of  the  store.  But 
here  again  nobody  seemed  to  recall  her  or  that 
she  had  asked  for  anything  in  particular. 


THE  WHTE  SLAVE  195 

Our  last  hope  was  the  book-shop.  We  paused 
for  a  moment  to  look  at  the  display  in  the  window, 
but  only  for  a  moment,  for  Craig  quickly  pulled 
me  along  inside.  In  the  window  was  a  display  of 
books  bearing  the  sign: 


Instead  of  attempting  to  go  over  the  ground  al- 
ready traversed  by  the  police,  who  had  interrogated 
the  numerous  cierks  without  discovering  which  one, 
if  any,  had  waited  on  Miss  Gilbert,  Kennedy  asked 
at  once  to  see  the  record  of  sales  of  the  morning 
on  which  she  had  disappeared.  Running  his  eye 
quickly  down  the  record,  he  picked  out  a  work  on 
clairvoyance  and  asked  to  see  the  young  woman  who 
had  made  the  sale.  The  clerk  was,  however,  un- 
able to  recall  to  whom  she  had  sold  the  book,  though 
she  finally  admitted  that  she  thought  it  might  have 
been  a  young  woman  who  had  some  difficulty  in 
making  up  her  mind  just  which  one  of  the  numerous 
volumes  she  wanted.  She  could  not  say  whether 
the  picture  Kennedy  showed  her  of  Miss  Gilbert 
was  that  of  her  customer,  nor  was  she  sure  that 
the  customer  was  not  escorted  by  some  one.  Alto- 
gether it  was  nearly  as  hazy  as  our  interview  with 
Lawton. 

"  Still,"  remarked  Kennedy  cheerfully,  "  it  may 
furnish  a  clue,  after  all.  The  clerk  at  least  was 
not  positive  that  it  was  not  Miss  Gilbert  to  whom 
she  sold  the  book.  Since  we  are  down  in  this  neigh- 


H96  THE  POISONED  PEN 

bourhood,  let  us  drop  in  and  see  Mr.  Gilbert  again. 
Perhaps  something  may  have  happened  since  last 
night." 

Mr.  Gilbert  was  in  the  dry-goods  business  in  a 
loft  building  in  the  new  dry-goods  section  on  Fourth 
Avenue.  One  could  almost  feel  that  a  tragedy  had 
invaded  even  his  place  of  business.  As  we  entered, 
we  could  see  groups  of  clerks,  evidently  discussing 
the  case.  It  was  no  wonder,  I  felt,  for  the  head 
of  the  firm  was  almost  frantic,  and  beside  the  loss 
of  his  only  daughter  the  loss  of  his  business  would 
count  as  nothing,  at  least  until  the  keen  edge  of  his 
grief  was  worn  off. 

"  Mr.  Gilbert  is  out,"  replied  his  secretary,  in 
answer  to  our  inquiry.  "Haven't  you  heard? 
They  have  just  discovered  the  body  of  his  daughter 
in  a  lonely  spot  in  the  Croton  Aqueduct.  The  re- 
port came  in  from  the  police  just  a  few  minutes 
ago.  It  is  thought  that  she  was  murdered  in  the 
city  and  carried  there  in  an  automobile." 

The  news  came  with  a  stinging  shock.  I  felt 
that,  after  all,  we  were  too  late.  In  another  hour 
the  extras  would  be  out,  and  the  news  would  be 
spread  broadcast.  The  affair  would  be  in  the  hands 
of  the  amateur  detectives,  and  there  was  no  telling 
how  many  promising  clues  might  be  lost. 

"  Dead!  "  exclaimed  Kennedy,  as  he  jammed  his 
hat  on  his  head  and  bolted  for  the  door.  "  Hurry, 
Walter.  We  must  get  there  before  the  coroner 
makes  his  examination." 

I  don't  know  how  we  managed  to  do  it,  but  by 
dint  of  subway,  elevated,  and  taxicab  we  arrived  on 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  197 

the  scene  of  the  tragedy  not  very  long  after  the 
coroner.  Mr.  Gilbert  was  there,  silentj  and  looking 
as  if  he  had  aged  many  years  since  the  night  before; 
his  hand  shook  and  he  could  merely  nod  recognition 
to  us. 

Already  the  body  had  been  carried  to  a  rough 
shanty  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  the  coroner  was 
questioning  those  who  had  made  the  discovery,  a 
party  of  Italian  labourers  on  the  water  improve- 
ment near  by.  They  were  a  vicious  looking  crew, 
but  they  could  tell  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  one 
of  them  had  discovered  the  body  in  a  thicket  where 
it  could  not  possibly  have  lain  longer  than  overnight. 
There  was  no  reason,  as  yet,  to  suspect  any  of  them, 
and  indeed,  as  a  much  travelled  automobile  road 
ran  within  a  few  feet  of  the  thicket,  there  was 
every  reason  to  believe  that  the  murder,  if  murder 
it  was,  had  been  committed  elsewhere  and  that  the 
perpetrator  had  taken  this  means  of  getting  rid  of 
his  unfortunate  victim. 

Drawn  and  contorted  were  the  features  of  the 
poor  girl,  as  if  she  had  died  in  great  physical  agony 
or  after  a  terrific  struggle.  Indeed,  marks  of  vio- 
lence on  her  delicate  throat  and  neck  showed  only 
too  plainly  that  she  had  been  choked. 

As  Kennedy  bent  over  the  form  of  the  once  lovely 
Georgette,  he  noted  the  clenched  hands.  Then  he 
looked  at  them  more  closely.  I  was  standing  a  little 
behind  him,  for  though  Craig  and  I  had  been 
through  many  thrilling  adventures,  the  death  of  a 
human  being,  especially  of  a  girl  like  Miss  Gilbert, 
filled  me  with  horror  and  revulsion.  I  could  see, 


198  THE  POISONED  PEN 

however,  that  he  had  noted  something  unusual.  He 
pulled  out  a  little  pocket  magnifying  glass  and  made 
an  even  more  minute  examination  of  the  hands.  At 
last  he  rose  and  faced  us,  almost  as  if  in  triumph. 
I  could  not  see  what  he  had  discovered — at  least 
it  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  tangible,  like  a 
weapon. 

Quickly  he  opened  the  pocketbook  which  she  had 
carried.  It  seemed  to  be  empty,  and  he  was  about 
to  shut  it  when  something  white,  sticking  in  one 
corner,  caught  his  eye.  Craig  pulled  out  a  clipping 
from  a  newspaper,  and  we  crowded  about  him  to 
look  at  it.  It  was  a  large  clipping  from  the  section 
of  one  of  the  metropolitan  journals  which  carries 
a  host  of  such  advertisements  as  "  spirit  medium," 
"  psychic  palmist,"  "  yogi  mediator,"  "  magnetic  in- 
fluences," "  crystal  gazer,"  "  astrologer,"  "  trance 
medium,"  and  the  like.  At  once  I  thought  of  the 
sallow,  somewhat  mystic  countenance  of  Dudley,  and 
the  idea  flashed,  half-formed,  in  my  mind  that  some- 
how this  clue,  together  with  the  purchase  of  the 
book  on  clairvoyance,  might  prove  the  final  link 
necessary. 

But  the  first  problem  in  Kennedy's  mind  was  to 
keep  in  touch  with  what  the  authorities  were  doing. 
fThat  kept  us  busy  for  several  hours,  during  which 
Craig  was  in  close  consultation  with  the  coroner's 
physician.  The  physician  was  of  the  opinion  that 
Miss  Gilbert  had  been  drugged  as  well  as  strangled, 
and  for  many  hours,  down  in  his  laboratory,  his 
chemists  were  engaged  in  trying  to  discover  from 
tests  of  her  blood  whether  the  theory  was  true. 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  199 

One  after  another  the  ordinary  poisons  were  elimi- 
nated, until  it  began  to  look  hopeless. 

So  far  Kennedy  had  been  only  an  interested  spec- 
tator, but  as  the  different  tests  failed,  he  had  be- 
come more  and  more  keenly  alive.  At  last  it  seemed 
as  if  he  could  wait  no  longer. 

"  Might  I  try  one  or  two  reactions  with  that 
sample?"  he  asked  of  the  physician  who  handed 
him  the  test  tube  in  silence. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Craig  thoughtfully  re- 
garded it,  while  with  one  hand  he  fingered  the 
bottles  of  ether,  alcohol,  distilled  water,  and  the 
many  reagents  standing  before  him.  He  picked  up 
one  and  poured  a  little  liquid  into  the  test  tube. 
Then,  removing  the  precipitate  that  was  formed,  he 
tried  to  dissolve  it  in  water.  Not  succeeding,  he 
tried  the  ether  and  then  the  alcohol.  Both  were 
successful. 

"  What  is  it?  "  we  asked  as  he  held  the  tube  up 
critically  to  the  light. 

"  I  can't  be  sure  yet,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  I 
thought  at  first  that  it  was  some  alkaloid.  I'll  have 
to  make  further  tests  before  I  can  be  positive  just 
what  it  is.  If  I  may  retain  this  sample  I  think 
that  with  other  clues  that  I  have  discovered  I  may 
be  able  to  tell  you  something  definite  soon." 

The  coroner's  physician  willingly  assented,  and 
Craig  quickly  dispatched  the  tube,  carefully  sealed, 
to  his  laboratory. 

"  That  part  of  our  investigation  will  keep,"  he 
remarked  as  we  left  the  coroner's  office.  '  To-night 
I  think  we  had  better  resume  the  search  which  was 


200  THE  POISONED  PEN 

so  unexpectedly  interrupted  this  morning.  I  sup- 
pose you  have  concluded,  Walter,  that  we  can  be 
reasonably  sure  that  the  trail  leads  back  through  the 
fortune-tellers  and  soothsayers  of  New  York, — 
which  one,  it  would  be  difficult  to  say.  The  obvious 
thing,  therefore,  is  to  consult  them  all.  I  think  you 
will  enjoy  that  part  of  it,  with  your  newspaperman's 
liking  for  the  bizarre." 

The  fact  was  that  it  did  appeal  to  me,  though 
at  the  moment  I  was  endeavouring  to  formulate  a 
theory  in  which  Dudley  Lawton  and  an  accomplice 
would  account  for  the  facts. 

It  was  early  in  the  evening  as  we  started  out 
on  our  tour  of  the  clairvoyants  of  New  York.  The 
first  whom  Kennedy  selected  from  the  advertise- 
ments in  the  clipping  described  himself  as  "  Hata, 
the  Veiled  Prophet,  born  with  a  double  veil,  edu- 
cated in  occult  mysteries  and  Hindu  philosophy  in 
Egypt  and  India."  Like  all  of  them  his  advertise- 
ment dwelt  much  on  love  and  money: 

The  great  questions  of  life  are  quickly  solved,  failure 
turned  to  success,  sorrow  to  joy,  the  separated  are  brought 
together,  foes  made  friends.  Truths  are  laid  bare  to  his 
mysterious  mind.  He  gives  you  power  to  attract  and  control 
those  whom  you  may  desire,  tells  you  of  living  or  dead,  your 
secret  troubles,  the  cause  and  remedy.  Advice  on  all  affairs 
of  life,  love,  courtship,  marriage,  business,  speculations,  in- 
vestments. Overcomes  rivals,  enemies,  and  all  evil  influ- 
ences. Will  tell  you  how  to  attract,  control,  and  change  the 
thought,  intentions,  actions,  or  character  of  any  one  you 
desire. 

Hata  was  a  modest  adept  who  professed  to  be 
able  to  explain  the  whole  ten  stages  of  Yoga.  He 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  201 

had  established  himself  on  a  street  near  Times 
Square,  just  off  Broadway,  and  there  we  found  sev- 
eral automobiles  and  taxicabs  standing  at  the  curb, 
a  mute  testimony  to  the  wealth  of  at  least  some  of 
his  clientele. 

A  solemn-faced  coloured  man  ushered  us  into  a 
front  parlour  and  asked  if  we  had  come  to  see  the 
professor.  Kennedy  answered  that  we  had. 

'  Will  you  please  write  your  names  and  addresses 
on  the  outside  sheet  of  this  pad,  then  tear  it  off 
and  keep  it?"  asked  the  attendant.  "  We  ask  all 
visitors  to  do  that  simply  as  a  guarantee  of  good 
faith.  Then  if  you  will  write  under  it  what  you 
wish  to  find  out  from  the  professor  I  think  it  will 
help  you  concentrate.  But  don't  write  while  I  am 
in  the  room,  and  don't  let  me  see  the  writing." 

"  A  pretty  cheap  trick,"  exclaimed  Craig  when 
the  attendant  had  gone.  "  That's  how  he  tells  the 
gullible  their  names  before  they  tell  him.  I've  a 
good  notion  to  tear  off  two  sheets.  The  second 
is  chemically  prepared,  with  paraffin,  I  think.  By 
dusting  it  over  with  powdered  charcoal  you  can  bring 
out  what  was  written  on  the  first  sheet  over  it. 
Oh,  well,  let's  let  him  get  something  across,  anyway. 
Here  goes,  our  names  and  addresses,  and  under- 
neath I'll  write,  {  What  has  become  of  Georgette 
Gilbert?'" 

Perhaps  five  minutes  later  the  negro  took  the  pad, 
the  top  sheet  having  been  torn  off  and  placed  in 
Kennedy's  pocket.  He  also  took  a  small  fee  of 
two  dollars.  A  few  minutes  later  we  were  ushered 
into  the  awful  presence  of  the  "  Veiled  Prophet,"  a 


202  THE  POISONED  PEN 

tall,  ferret-eyed  man  in  a  robe  that  looked  suspi- 
ciously like  a  brocaded  dressing-gown  much  too  large 
for  him. 

Sure  enough,  he  addressed  us  solemnly  by  name 
and  proceeded  directly  to  tell  us  why  we  had  come. 

"  Let  us  look  into  the  crystal  of  the  past,  present, 
and  future  and  read  what  it  has  to  reveal,"  he 
added  solemnly,  darkening  the  room,  which  was  al- 
ready only  dimly  lighted.  Then  Hata,  the  crystal- 
gazer,  solemnly  seated  himself  in  a  chair.  Before 
him,  in  his  hands,  reposing  on  a  bag  of  satin,  lay 
a  huge  oval  piece  of  glass.  He  threw  forward  his 
head  and  riveted  his  eyes  on  the  milky  depths  of 
the  crystal.  In  a  moment  he  began  to  talk,  first 
ramblingly,  then  coherently. 

"  I  see  a  man,  a  dark  man,"  he  began.  "  He  is 
talking  earnestly  to  a  young  girl.  She  is  trying  to 
avoid  him.  Ah — he  seizes  her  by  both  arms.  They 
struggle.  He  has  his  hand  at  her  throat.  He  is 
choking  her." 

I  was  thinking  of  the  newspaper  descriptions  of 
Lawton,  which  the  fakir  had  undoubtedly  read,  but 
Kennedy  was  leaning  forward  over  the  crystal-gazer, 
not  watching  the  crystal  at  all,  nor  with  his  eyes 
on  the  clairvoyant's  face. 

"  Her  tongue  is  protruding  from  her  mouth,  her 
eyes  are  bulging " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  urged  Kennedy.     "  Go  on." 

"She  falls.  He  strikes  her.  He  flees.  He 
goes  to ' 

Kennedy  laid  his  hand  ever  so  lightly  on  the  arm 
of  the  clairvoyant,  then  quickly  withdrew  it. 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  203 

"  I  cannot  see  where  he  goes.  It  is  dark,  dark. 
You  will  have  to  come  back  to-morrow  when  the 
vision  is  stronger." 

The  thing  stung  me  by  its  crudity.  Kennedy, 
however,  seemed  elated  by  our  experience  as  we 
gained  the  street. 

"  Craig,"  I  remonstrated,  "  you  don't  mean  to 
say  you  attach  any  importance  to  vapourings  like 
that  ?  Why,  there  wasn't  a  thing  the  fellow  couldn't 
have  imagined  from  the  newspapers,  even  the 
clumsy  description  of  Dudley  Lawton." 

u  We'll  see,"  he  replied  cheerfully,  as  we  stopped 
under  a  light  to  read  the  address  of  the  next  seer, 
who  happened  to  be  in  the  same  block. 

It  proved  to  be  the  psychic  palmist  who  called 
himself  "  the  Pandit."  He  also  was  "  born  with 
a  strange  and  remarkable  power — not  meant  to 
gratify  the  idle  curious,  but  to  direct,  advise,  and 
help  men  and  women  " — at  the  usual  low  fee.  He 
said  in  print  that  he  gave  instant  relief  to  those 
who  had  trouble  in  love,  and  also  positively  guaran- 
teed to  tell  your  name  and  the  object  of  your  visit. 
He  added: 

Love,  courtship,  marriage.  What  is  more  beautiful  than 
the  true  unblemished  love  of  one  person  for  another?  What 
is  sweeter,  better,  or  more  to  be  desired  than  perfect  harmony 
and  happiness?  If  you  want  to  win  the  esteem,  love,  and 
everlasting  affection  of  another,  see  the  Pandit,  the  greatest 
living  master  of  the  occult  science. 

Inasmuch  as  this  seer  fell  into  a  passion  at  the 
other  incompetent  soothsayers  in  the  next  column 


204  THE  POISONED  PEN 

(and  almost  next  door)  it  seemed  as  if  we  must 
surely  get  something  for  our  money  from  the 
Pandit. 

Like  Hata,  the  Pandit  lived  in  a  large  brown- 
stone  house.  The  man  who  admitted  us  led  us  into 
a  parlour  where  several  people  were  seated  about  as 
if  waiting  for  some  one.  The  pad  and  writing 
process  was  repeated  with  little  variation.  Since 
we  were  the  latest  comers  we  had  to  wait  some 
time  before  we  were  ushered  into  the  presence  of 
the  Pandit,  who  was  clad  in  a  green  silk  robe. 

The  room  was  large  and  had  very  small  windows 
of  stained  glass.  At  one  end  of  the  room  was  an 
altar  on  which  burned  several  candles  which  gave 
out  an  incense.  The  atmosphere  of  the  room  was 
heavy  with  a  fragrance  that  seemed  to  combine 
cologne  with  chloroform. 

The  Pandit  waved  a  wand,  muttering  strange 
sounds  as  he  did  so,  for  in  addition  to  his  palmistry, 
which  he  seemed  not  disposed  to  exhibit  that  night, 
he  dealt  in  mysteries  beyond  human  ken.  A  voice, 
quite  evidently  from  a  phonograph  buried  in  the 
depths  of  the  altar,  answered  in  an  unknown  lan- 
guage which  sounded  much  like  "  Al-ya  wa-aa  haal- 
ya  waa-ha."  Across  the  dim  room  flashed  a  pale 
blue  light  with  a  crackling  noise,  the  visible  rays 
from  a  Crookes  tube,  I  verily  believe.  The  Pandit, 
however,  said  it  was  the  soul  of  a  saint  passing 
through.  Then  he  produced  two  silken  robes,  one 
red,  which  he  placed  on  Kennedy's  shoulders,  and 
one  violet,  which  he  threw  over  me. 

From  the  air  proceeded  strange  sounds  of  weird 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  205 

music  and  words.  The  Pandit  seemed  to  fall  asleep, 
muttering.  Apparently,  however,  Kennedy  and  I 
were  bad  subjects,  for  after  some  minutes  of  this 
he  gave  it  up,  saying  that  the  spirits  had  no  revela- 
tion to  make  to-night  in  the  matter  in  which  we 
had  called.  Inasmuch  as  we  had  not  written  on 
the  pad  just  what  that  matter  was,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised. Nor  was  I  surprised  when  the  Pandit  laid 
off  his  robe  and  said  unctuously,  "  But  if  you  will 
call  to-morrow  and  concentrate,  I  am  sure  that  I 
can  secure  a  message  that  will  be  helpful  about  your 
little  matter." 

Kennedy  promised  to  call,  but  still  he  lingered. 
The  Pandit,  anxious  to  get  rid  of  us,  moved  toward 
the  door.  Kennedy  sidled  over  toward  the  green 
robe  which  the  Pandit  had  laid  on  a  chair. 

"  Might  I  have  some  of  your  writings  to  look 
over  in  the  meantime?  "  asked  Craig  as  if  to  gain 
time. 

"  Yes,  but  they  will  cost  you  three  dollars  a  copy 
— the  price  I  charge  all  my  students,"  answered  the 
Pandit  with  just  a  trace  of  a  gleam  of  satisfaction 
at  having  at  last  made  an  impression. 

He  turned  and  entered  a  cabinet  to  secure  the 
mystic  literature.  The  moment  he  had  disappeared 
Kennedy  seized  the  opportunity  he  had  been  waiting 
for.  He  picked  up  the  green  robe  and  examined 
the  collar  and  neck  very  carefully  under  the  least 
dim  of  the  lights  in  the  room.  He  seemed  to  find 
what  he  wished,  yet  he  continued  to  examine  the 
robe  until  the  sound  of  returning  footsteps  warned 
him  to  lay  it  down  again.  He  had  not  been  quite 


2o6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

quick  enough.  The  Pandit  eyed  us  suspiciously, 
then  he  rang  a  bell.  The  attendant  appeared  in- 
stantly, noiselessly. 

"  Show  these  men  into  the  library,"  he  com- 
manded with  just  the  faintest  shade  of  trepidation. 
"  My  servant  will  give  you  the  book,"  he  said  to 
Craig.  "  Pay  him." 

It  seemed  that  we  had  suddenly  been  looked  upon 
with  disfavour,  and  I  half  suspected  he  thought  we 
were  spies  of  the  police,  who  had  recently  received 
numerous  complaints  of  the  financial  activities  of 
the  fortune  tellers,  who  worked  in  close  harmony 
with  certain  bucket-shop  operators  in  fleecing  the 
credulous  of  their  money  by  inspired  investment  ad- 
vice. At  any  rate,  the  attendant  quickly  ^opened  a 
door  into  the  darkness.  Treading  cautiously  I  fol- 
lowed Craig.  The  door  closed  behind  us.  I 
clenched  my  fists,  not  knowing  what  to  expect. 

'  The  deuce!  "  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "  He  passed 
us  out  into  an  alley.  There  is  the  street  not  twenty 
feet  away.  The  Pandit  is  a  clever  one,  all  right." 

It  was  now  too  late  to  see  any  of  the  other  clair- 
voyants on  our  list,  so  that  with  this  unceremonious 
dismissal  we  decided  to  conclude  our  investigations 
for  the  night. 

The  next  morning  we  wended  our  way  up  into 
the  Bronx,  where  one  of  the  mystics  had  esconced 
himself  rather  out  of  the  beaten  track  of  police  pro- 
tection, or  persecution,  one  could  not  say  which.  I 
was  wondering  what  sort  of  vagary  would  come 
next.  It  proved  to  be  "  Swami,  the  greatest  clair- 
voyant, psychic  palmist,  and  Yogi  mediator  of  them 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  207 

all."     He  also  stood  alone  in  his  power,   for  he 
asserted : 

Names  friends,  enemies,  rivals,  tells  whom  and  when  you 
will  marry,  advises  you  upon  love,  courtship,  marriage,  busi- 
ness, speculation,  transactions  of  every  nature.  If  you  are 
worried,  perplexed,  or  in  trouble  come  to  this  wonderful 
man.  He  reads  your  life  like  an  open  book;  he  overcomes 
evil  influences,  reunites  the  separated,  causes  speedy  and 
happy  marriage  with  the  one  of  your  choice,  tells  how  to 
influence  any  one  you  desire,  tells  whether  wife  or  sweet- 
heart is  true  or  false.  Love,  friendship,  and  influence  of 
others  obtained  and  a  greater  share  of  happiness  in  life 
secured.  The  key  to  success  is  that  marvellous,  subtle, 
unseen  power  that  opens  to  your  vision  the  greatest  secrets 
of  life.  It  gives  you  power  which  enables  you  to  control 
the  minds  of  men  and  women. 

The  Swami  engaged  to  explain  the  "  wonderful 
Karmic  law,"  and  by  his  method  one  could  develop 
a  wonderful  magnetic  personality  by  which  he  could 
win  anything  the  human  heart  desired.  It  was 
therefore  with  great  anticipation  that  we  sought  out 
the  wonderful  Swami  and,  falling  into  the  spirit  of 
his  advertisement,  posed  as  "  come-ons "  and 
pleaded  to  obtain  this  wonderful  magnetism  and  a 
knowledge  of  the  Karmic  law — at  a  ridiculously  low 
figure,  considering  its  inestimable  advantages  to  one 
engaged  in  the  pursuit  of  criminal  science.  Natu- 
rally the  Swami  was  pleased  at  two  such  early  callers, 
and  his  narrow,  half-bald  head,  long  slim  nose,  sharp 
grey  eyes,  and  sallow,  unwholesome  complexion 
showed  his  pleasure  in  every  line  and  feature. 

Rubbing  his  hands  together  as  he  motioned  us 


208  THE  POISONED  PEN 

into  the  next  room,  the  Swami  seated  us  on  a  circular 
divan  with  piles  of  cushions  upon  it.  There  were 
clusters  of  flowers  in  vases  about  the  room,  which 
gave  it  the  odour  of  the  renewed  vitality  of  the 
year. 

A  lackey  entered  with  a  silver  tray  of  cups  of 
coffee  and  a  silver  jar  in  the  centre.  Talking  slowly 
and  earnestly  about  the  "  great  Karmic  law,"  the 
Swami  bade  us  drink  the  coffee,  which  was  of  a  vile, 
muddy,  Turkish  variety.  Then  from  the  jar  he 
took  a  box  of  rock  crystal  containing  a  sort  of 
greenish  compound  which  he  kneaded  into  a  little 
gum — gum  tragacanth,  I  afterward  learned, — and 
bade  us  taste.  It  was  not  at  all  unpleasant  to  the 
taste,  and  as  nothing  happened,  except  the  suave 
droning  of  the  mystic  before  us,  we  ate  several  of 
the  gum  pellets. 

I  am  at  a  loss  to  describe  adequately  just  the 
sensations  that  I  soon  experienced.  It  was  as  if 
puffs  of  hot  and  cold  air  were  alternately  blown  on 
my  spine,  and  I  felt  a  twitching  of  my  neck,  legs, 
and  arms.  Then  came  a  subtle  warmth.  The 
whole  thing  seemed  droll;  the  noise  of  the  Swami's 
voice  was  most  harmonious.  His  and  Kennedy's 
faces  seemed  transformed.  They  were  human  faces, 
but  each  had  a  sort  of  animal  likeness  back  of  it, 
as  Lavater  has  said.  The  Swami  seemed  to  me  to 
be  the  fox,  Kennedy  the  owl.  I  looked  in  the  glass, 
and  I  was  the  eagle.  I  laughed  outright. 

It  was  sensuous  in  the  extreme.  The  beautiful 
paintings  on  the  walls  at  once  became  clothed  in 
flesh  and  blood.  A  picture  of  a  lady  hanging  near 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  209 

me  caught  my  eye.  The  countenance  really  smiled 
and  laughed  and  varied  from  moment  to  moment. 
Her  figure  became  rounded  and  living  and  seemed 
to  stir  in  the  frame.  The  face  was  beautiful  but 
ghastly.  I  seemed  to  be  borne  along  on  a  sea  of 
pleasure  by  currents  of  voluptuous  happiness. 

The  Swami  was  affected  by  a  profound  polite- 
ness. As  he  rose  and  walked  about  the  room,  still 
talking,  he  salaamed  and  bowed.  When  I  spoke  it 
sounded  like  a  gun,  with  an  echo  long  afterward 
rumbling  in  my  brain.  Thoughts  came  to  me  like 
fury,  bewildering,  sometimes  as  points  of  light  in  the 
most  exquisite  fireworks.  Objects  were  clothed  in 
most  fantastic  garbs.  I  looked  at  my  two  animal 
companions.  I  seemed  to  read  their  thoughts.  I 
felt  strange  affinities  with  them,  even  with  the  Swami. 
Yet  it  was  all  by  the  psychological  law  of  the  asso- 
ciation of  ideas,  though  I  was  no  longer  master  but 
the  servant  of  those  ideas. 

As  for  Kennedy,  the  stuff  seemed  to  affect  him 
much  differently  than  it  did  myself.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  rouse  in  him  something  vicious.  The 
more  I  smiled  and  the  more  the  Swami  salaamed, 
the  more  violent  I  could  see  Craig  getting,  whereas 
I  was  lost  in  a  maze  of  dreams  that  I  would  not 
have  stopped  if  I  could.  Seconds  seemed  to  be 
years;  minutes  ages.  Things  at  only  a  short  dis- 
tance looked  much  as  they  do  when  looked  at 
through  the  inverted  end  of  a  telescope.  Yet  it 
all  carried  with  it  an  agreeable  exhilaration  which 
I  can  only  describe  as  the  heightened  sense  one  feels 
on  the  first  spring  day  of  the  year. 


210  THE  POISONED  PEN 

At  last  the  continued  plying  of  the  drug  seemed 
to  be  too  much  for  Kennedy.  The  Swami  had  made 
a  profound  salaam.  In  an  instant  Kennedy  had 
seized  with  both  hands  the  long  flowing  hair  at  the 
back  of  the  Swami's  bald  forehead,  and  he  tugged 
until  the  mystic  yelled  with  pain  and  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes. 

With  a  leap  I  roused  myself  from  the  train  of 
dreams  and  flung  myself  between  them.  At  the 
sound  of  my  voice  and  the  pressure  of  my  grasp, 
Craig  sullenly  and  slowly  relaxed  his  grip.  A 
vacant  look  seemed  to  steal  into  his  face,  and  seiz- 
ing his  hat,  which  lay  on  a  near-by  stool,  he  stalked 
out  in  silence,  and  I  followed. 

Neither  of  us  spoke  for  a  moment  after  we  had 
reached  the  street,  but  out  of  the  corner  of  my 
eye  I  could  see  that  Kennedy's  body  was  convulsed 
as  if  with  suppressed  emotion. 

"Do  you  feel  better  in  the  air?"  I  asked 
anxiously,  yet  somewhat  vexed  and  feeling  a  sort 
of  lassitude  and  half  regret  at  the  reality  of  life 
and  not  of  the  dreams. 

It  seemed  as  if  he  could  restrain  himself  no  longer. 
He  burst  out  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "  I  was  just 
watching  the  look  of  disgust  on  your  face,"  he  said 
as  he  opened  his  hand  and  showed  me  three  or 
four  of  the  gum  lozenges  that  he  had  palmed  instead 
of  swallowing.  "  Ha,  ha !  I  wonder  what  the 
Swami  thinks  of  his  earnest  effort  to  expound  the 
Karmic  law." 

It  was  beyond  me.  With  the  Swami's  concoction 
still  shooting  thoughts  like  sky  rockets  through  my 


I 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  211 

brain  I  gave  it  up  and  allowed  Kennedy  to  engineer 
our  next  excursion  into  the  occult. 

One  more  seer  remained  to  be  visited.  This  one 
professed  to  "  hold  your  life  mirror  "  and  by  his 
"  magnetic  monochrome,"  whatever  that  might  be, 
he  would  "  impart  to  you  an  attractive  personality, 
mastery  of  being,  for  creation  and  control  of  life 
conditions." 

He  described  himself  as  the  "  Guru,"  and,  among 
other  things,  he  professed  to  be  a  sun-worshipper. 
At  any  rate,  the  room  into  which  we  were  admitted 
was  decorated  with  the  four-spoked  wheel,  or  wheel 
and  cross,  the  winged  circle,  and  the  winged  orb. 
The  Guru  himself  was  a  swarthy  individual  with 
a  purple  turban  wound  around  his  head.  In  his 
inner  room  were  many  statuettes,  photographs  of 
other  Gurus  of  the  faith,  and  on  each  of  the  four 
walls  were  mysterious  symbols  in  plaster  represent- 
ing a  snake  curved  in  a  circle,  swallowing  his  tail, 
a  five-pointed  star,  and  in  the  centre  another  winged 
sphere. 

Craig  asked  the  Guru  to  explain  the  symbols,  to 
which  he  replied  with  a  smile :  "  The  snake  repre- 
sents eternity,  the  star  involution  and  evolution  of 
the  soul,  while  the  winged  sphere — eh,  well,  that 
represents  something  else.  Do  you  come  to  learn 
of  the  faith?" 

At  this  gentle  hint  Craig  replied  that  he  did,  and 
the  utmost  amicabifity  was  restored  by  the  purchase 
of  the  Green  Book  of  the  Guru,  which  seemed  to 
deal  with  everything  under  the  sun,  and  particularly 
the  revival  of  ancient  Asiatic  fire-worship  with  many 


212  THE  POISONED  PEN 

forms  and  ceremonies,  together  with  posturing  and 
breathing  that  rivalled  the  "  turkey  trot,"  the 
"  bunny  hug,"  and  the  "  grizzly  bear."  The  book, 
as  we  turned  over  its  pages,  gave  directions  for 
preparing  everything  from  food  to  love-philtres  and 
the  elixir  of  life.  One  very  interesting  chapter  was 
devoted  to  "  electric  marriage,"  which  seemed  to 
come  to  those  only  who,  after  searching  patiently, 
at  last  found  perfect  mates.  Another  of  the  Guru's 
tenets  seemed  to  be  purification  by  eliminating  all 
false  modesty,  bathing  in  the  sun,  and  while  bathing 
engaging  in  any  occupation  which  kept  the  mind 
agreeably  occupied.  On  the  first  page  was  the  sat- 
isfying legend,  "  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  that 
a  disciple  can  give  to  pay  the  debt  to  the  Guru  who 
has  taught  him  one  truth." 

As  we  talked,  it  seemed  quite  possible  to  me  that 
the  Guru  might  exert  a  very  powerful  hypnotic  in- 
fluence over  his  disciples  or  those  who  came  to  seek 
his  advice.  Besides  this  indefinable  hypnotic  influ- 
ence, I  also  noted  the  more  material  lock  on  the 
door  to  the  inner  sanctuary. 

4  Yes,"  the  Guru  was  saying  to  Kennedy,  "  I  can 
secure  you  one  6f  the  love-pills  from  India,  but  it 
will  cost  you — er — ten  dollars."  I  think  he  hesi- 
tated, to  see  how  much  the  traffic  would  bear,  from 
one  to  one  hundred,  and  compromised  with  only  one 
zero  after  the  unit.  Kennedy  appeared  satisfied, 
and  the  Guru  departed  with  alacrity  to  secure  the 
specially  imported  pellet. 

In  a  corner  was  a  sort  of  dressing-table  on  which 
lay  a  comb  and  brush.  Kennedy  seemed  much  in- 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  213 

terested  in  the  table  and  was  examining  it  when  the 
Guru  returned.  Just  as  the  door  opened  he  man- 
aged to  slip  the  brush  into  his  pocket  and  appear 
interested  in  the  mystic  symbols  on  the  wall  opposite. 

"  If  that  doesn't  work,"  remarked  the  Guru  in 
remarkably  good  English,  "  let  me  know,  and  you 
must  try  one  of  my  charm  bottles.  But  the  love- 
pills  are  fine.  Good-day." 

Outside  Craig  looked  at  me  quizzically.  "  You 
wouldn't  believe  it,  Walter,  would  you?"  he  said. 
"  Here  in  this  twentieth  century  in  New  York,  and 
in  fact  in  every  large  city  of  the  world — love-philtres, 
love-pills,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  And  it  is  not  among 
the  ignorant  that  these  things  are  found,  either. 
You  remember  we  saw  automobiles  waiting  before 
some  of  the  places." 

"  I  suspect  that  all  who  visit  the  fakirs  are  not 
so  gullible,  after  all,"  I  replied  sententiously. 

"  Perhaps  not.  I  think  I  shall  have  something 
interesting  to  say  to-night  as  a  result  of  our  visits, 
at  least." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day  Kennedy  was 
closely  confined  in  his  laboratory  with  his  micro- 
scopes, slides,  chemicals,  test-tubes,  and  other  appa- 
ratus. As  for  myself,  I  put  in  the  time  speculating 
which  of  the  fakirs  had  been  in  some  mysterious 
way  connected  with  the  case  and  in  what  manner. 
Many  were  the  theories  which  I  had  formed  and 
the  situations  I  conjured  up,  and  in  nearly  all  I 
had  one  central  figure,  the  young  man  whose  esca- 
pades had  been  the  talk  of  even  the  fast  set  of  a 
fast  society. 


214  THE  POISONED  PEN 

That  night  Kennedy,  with  the  assistance  of  First 
Deputy  O'Connor,  who  was  not  averse  to  taking 
any  action  within  the  law  toward  the  soothsayers, 
assembled  a  curiously  cosmopolitan  crowd  in  his 
laboratory.  Besides  the  Gilberts  were  Dudley  Law- 
ton  and  his  father,  Hata,  the  Pandit,  the  Swami, 
and  the  Guru — the  latter  four  persons  in  high 
dudgeon  at  being  deprived  of  the  lucrative  profits 
of  a  Sunday  night. 

Kennedy  began  slowly,  leading  gradually  up  to 
his  point:  "A  new  means  of  bringing  criminals  to 
justice  has  been  lately  studied  by  one  of  the  greatest 
scientific  detectives  of  crime  in  the  world,  the  man 
to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  our  most  complete 
systems  of  identification  and  apprehension."  Craig 
paused  and  fingered  the  microscope  before  him 
thoughtfully.  "  Human  hair,"  he  resumed,  "  has 
recently  been  the  study  of  that  untiring  criminal 
scientist,  M.  Bertillon.  He  has  drawn  up  a  full, 
classified,  and  graduated  table  of  all  the  known 
colours  of  the  human  hair,  a  complete  palette,  so 
to  speak,  of  samples  gathered  in  every  quarter  of 
the  globe.  Henceforth  burglars,  who  already  wear 
gloves  or  paint  their  fingers  with  a  rubber  composi- 
tion for  fear  of  leaving  finger-prints,  will  have  to 
wear  close-fitting  caps  or  keep  their  heads  shaved. 
[Thus  he  has  hit  upon  a  new  method  of  identification 
of  those  sought  by  the  police.  For  instance,  from 
time  to  time  the  question  arises  whether  hair  is 
human  or  animal.  In  such  cases  the  microscope 
tells  the  answer  truthfully. 

"  For  a  long  time   I  have  been  studying  hair, 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  215 

taking  advantage  of  those  excellent  researches  by 
M.  Bertillon.  Human  hair  is  fairly  uniform,  taper- 
ing gradually.  Under  the  microscope  it  is  practi- 
cally always  possible  to  distinguish  human  hair  from 
animal.  I  shall  not  go  into  the  distinctions,  but  I 
may  add  that  it  is  also  possible  to  determine  very 
quickly  the  difference  between  all  hair,  human  or 
animal,  and  cotton  with  its  corkscrew-like  twists, 
linen  with  its  jointed  structure,  and  silk,  which  is 
long,  smooth,  and  cylindrical." 

Again  Kennedy  paused  as  if  to  emphasise  this 
preface.  "  I  have  here,"  he  continued,  "  a  sample 
of  hair."  He  had  picked  up  a  microscope  slide 
that  was  lying  on  the  table.  It  certainly  did  not 
look  very  thrilling — a  mere  piece  of  glass,  that  was 
all.  But  on  the  glass  was  what  appeared  to  be 
merely  a  faint  line.  "  This  slide,"  he  said,  holding 
it  up,  "  has  what  must  prove  an  unescapable  clue 
to  the  identity  of  the  man  responsible  for  the  dis- 
appearance of  Miss  Gilbert.  I  shall  not  tell  you 
yet  who  he  is,  for  the  simple  reason  that,  though 
I  could  make  a  shrewd  guess,  I  do  not  yet  know 
what  the  verdict  of  science  is,  and  in  science  we  do 
not  guess  where  we  can  prove.  » 

"  You  will  undoubtedly  remember  that  when  Miss 
Gilbert's  body  was  discovered,  it  bore  no  evidence 
of  suicide,  but  on  the  contrary  the  marks  of  violence. 
Her  fists  were  clenched,  as  if  she  had  struggled  with 
all  her  power  against  a  force  that  had  been  too 
much  for  her.  I  examined  her  hands,  expecting  to 
find  some  evidence  of  a  weapon  she  had  used  to 
defend  herself.  Instead,  I  found  what  was  more 


2i6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

valuable.  Here  on  this  slide  are  several  hairs  that 
I  found  tightly  grasped  in  her  rigid  hands." 

I  could  not  help  recalling  Kennedy's  remark 
earlier  in  the  case — that  it  hung  on  slender  threads. 
Yet  how  strong  might  not  those  threads  prove ! 

"  There  was  also  in  her  pocketbook  a  newspaper 
clipping  bearing  the  advertisements  of  several  clair- 
voyants," he  went  on.  "  Mr.  Jameson  and  myself 
had  already  discovered  what  the  police  had  failed 
to  find,  that  on  the  morning  of  the  day  on  which 
she  disappeared  Miss  Gilbert  had  made  three  dis- 
tinct efforts,  probably,  to  secure  books  on  clairvoy- 
ance. Accordingly,  Mr.  Jameson  and  myself  have 
visited  several  of  the  fortune-tellers  and  practitioners 
of  the  occult  sciences  in  which  we  had  reason  to 
believe  Miss  Gilbert  was  interested.  They  all,  by 
the  way,  make  a  specialty  of  giving  advice  in  money 
matters  and  solving  the  problems  of  lovers.  I  sus- 
pect that  at  times  Mr.  Jameson  has  thought  that 
I  was  demented,  but  I  had  to  resort  to  many  and 
various  expedients  to  collect  the  specimens  of  hair 
which  I  wanted.  From  the  police,  who  used  Mr. 
Lawton's  valet,  I  received  some  hair  from  his  head. 
Here  is  another  specimen  from  each  of  the  adver- 
tisers, Hata,  the  Swami,  the  Pandit,  and  the  Guru. 
There  is  just  one  of  these  specimens  which  corre- 
sponds in  every  particular  of  colour,  thickness,  and 
texture  with  the  hair  found  so  tightly  grasped  in 
Miss  Gilbert's  hand." 

As  Craig  said  this  I  could  feel  a  sort  of  gasp 
of  astonishment  from  our  little  audience.  Still  he 
was  not  quite  ready  to  make  his  disclosure. 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  217 

"  Lest  I  should  be  prejudiced,"  he  pursued  evenly, 
"  by  my  own  rather  strong  convictions,  and  in  order 
that  I  might  examine  the  samples  without  fear  or 
favour,  I  had  one  of  my  students  at  the  laboratory 
take  the  marked  hairs,  mount  them,  number  them, 
and  put  in  numbered  envelopes  the  names  of  the 
persons  who  furnished  them.  But  before  I  open 
the  envelope  numbered  the  same  as  the  slide  which 
contains  the  hair  which  corresponds  precisely  with 
that  hair  found  in  Miss  Gilbert's  hand — and  it  is 

slide  No.  2 "  said  Kennedy,  picking  out  the  slide 

with  his  finger  and  moving  it  on  the  table  with  as 
much  coolness  as  if  he  were  moving  a  chessman  on 
a  board  instead  of  playing  in  the  terrible  game  of 
human  life,  u  before  I  read  the  name  I  have  still 
one  more  damning  fact  to  disclose." 

Craig  now  had  us  on  edge  with  excitement,  a  situ- 
ation which  I  sometimes  thought  he  enjoyed  more 
keenly  than  any  other  in  his  relentless  tracing  down 
of  a  criminal. 

"  What  was  it  that  caused  Miss  Gilbert's  death?  " 
asked  Kennedy.  "  The  coroner's  physician  did  not 
seem  to  be  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  theory  of 
physical  violence  alone.  Nor  did  I.  Some  one,  I 
believe,  exerted  a  peculiar  force  in  order  to  get  her 
into  his  power.  What  was  that  force?  At  first  I 
thought  it  might  have  been  the  hackneyed  knock- 
out drops,  but  tests  by  the  coroner's  physician  elim- 
inated that.  Then  I  thought  it  might  be  one  of 
the  alkaloids,  such  as  morphine,  cocaine,  and  others. 
But  it  was  not  any  of  the  usual  things  that  was  used 
to  entice  her  away  from  her  family  and  friends. 


218  THE  POISONED  PEN 

From  tests  that  I  have  made  I  have  discovered  tke 
one  fact  necessary  to  complete  my  case,  the  drug 
used  to  lure  her  and  against  which  she  fought  in 
deadly  struggle." 

He  placed  a  test  tube  in  a  rack  before  us.  "  This 
tube,"  he  continued,  "  contains  one  of  the  most 
singular  and,  among  us,  least  known  of  the  five 
common  narcotics  of  the  world — tobacco,  opium, 
coca,  betel  nut,  and  hemp.  It  can  be  smoked, 
chewed,  used  as  a  drink,  or  taken  as  a  confection. 
In  the  form  of  a  powder  it  is  used  by  the  narghile 
smoker.  As  a  liquid  it  can  be  taken  as  an  oily  fluid 
or  in  alcohol.  Taken  in  any  of  these  forms,  it 
literally  makes  the  nerves  walk,  dance,  and  run.  It 
heightens  the  feelings  and  sensibilities  to  distraction, 
producing  what  is  really  hysteria.  If  the  weather 
is  clear,  this  drug  will  make  life  gorgeous;  if  it  rains, 
tragic.  Slight  vexation  becomes  deadly  revenge; 
courage  becomes  rashness;  fear,  abject  terror;  and 
gentle  affection  or  even  a  passing  liking  is  trans- 
formed into  passionate  love.  It  is  the  drug  de- 
rived from  the  Indian  hemp,  scientifically  named 
Cannabis  Indica,  better  known  as  hashish,  or  bhang, 
or  a  dozen  other  names  in  the  East.  Its  chief  char- 
acteristic is  that  it  has  a  profound  effect  on  the 
passions.  Thus,  under  its  influence,  natives  of  the 
East  become  greatly  exhilarated,  then  debased,  and 
finally  violent,  rushing  forth  on  the  streets  with  the 
cry,  '  Amok,  amok,' — '  Kill,  kill ' — as  we  say,  '  run- 
ning amuck.'  An  overdose  of  this  drug  often 
causes  insanity,  while  in  small  quantities  our  doctors 
use  it  as  a  medicine.  Any  one  who  has  read  the 


THE  WHITE  SLAVE  219 

brilliant  Theophile  Gautier's  '  Club  des  Hachichens  ' 
or  Bayard  Taylor's  experience  at  Damascus  knows 
something  of  the  effect  of  hashish,  however. 

"  In  reconstructing  the  story  of  Georgette  Gil- 
bert, as  best  I  can,  I  believe  that  she  was  lured  to 
the  den  of  one  of  the  numerous  cults  practised  in 
New  York,  lured  by  advertisements  offering  advice 
in  hidden  love  affairs.  Led  on  by  her  love  for  a 
man  whom  she  could  not  and  would  not  put  out 
of  her  life,  and  by  her  affection  for  her  parents, 
she  was  frantic.  This  place  offered  hope,  and  to  it 
she  went  in  all  innocence,  not  knowing  that  it  was 
only  the  open  door  to  a  life  such  as  the  most  lurid 
disorderly  resorts  of  the  metropolis  could  scarcely 
match.  There  her  credulity  was  preyed  upon,  and 
she  was  tricked  into  taking  this  drug,  which  itself 
has  such  marked  and  perverting  effect.  But,  though 
she  must  have  been  given  a  great  deal  of  the  drug, 
she  did  not  yield,  as  many  of  the  sophisticated  do. 
She  struggled  frantically,  futilely.  Will  and  reason 
were  not  conquered,  though  they  sat  unsteadily  on 
their  thrones.  The  wisp  of  hair  so  tightly  clasped 
in  her  dead  hand  shows  that  she  fought  bitterly  to 
the  end." 

Kennedy  was  leaning  forward  earnestly,  glaring 
at  each  of  us  in  turn.  Lawton  was  twisting  uneasily 
in  his  chair,  and  I  could  see  that  his  fists  were 
doubled  up  and  that  he  was  holding  himself  in  leash 
as  if  waiting  for  something,  eyeing  us  all  keenly. 
The  Swami  was  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  trembling, 
and  the  other  fakirs  were  staring  in  amazement. 

Quickly  I  stepped  between  Dudley  Lawton  and 


220  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Kennedy,  but  as  I  did  so,  he  leaped  behind  me,  and 
before  I  could  turn  he  was  grappling  wildly  with 
some  one  on  the  floor. 

"  It's  all  right,  Walter,"  cried  Kennedy,  tearing 
open  the  envelope  on  the  table.  "  Lawton  has 
guessed  right.  The  hair  was  the  Swami's.  Georg- 
ette Gilbert  was  one  victim  who  fought  and  rescued 
herself  from  a  slavery  worse  than  death.  And  there 
is  one  mystic  who  could  not  foresee  arrest  and  the 
death  house  at  Sing  Sing  in  his  horoscope." 


VIII 
THE  FORGER 

WE  were  lunching  with  Stevenson  Williams,  a  friend 
of  Kennedy's,  at  the  Insurance  Club,  one  of  the 
many  new  downtown  luncheon  clubs,  where  the  noon 
hour  is  so  conveniently  combined  with  business. 

"  There  isn't  much  that  you  can't  insure  against 
nowadays,"  remarked  Williams  when  the  luncheon 
had  progressed  far  enough  to  warrant  a  tentative 
reference  to  the  obvious  fact  that  he  had  had  a 
purpose  in  inviting  us  to  the  club.  "  Take  my  own 
company,  for  example,  the  Continental  Surety.  We 
have  lately  undertaken  to  write  forgery  insurance." 

"Forgery  insurance?"  repeated  Kennedy. 
"  Well,  I  should  think  you'd  be  doing  a  ripping 
business — putting  up  the  premium  rate  about  every 
day  in  this  epidemic  of  forgery  that  seems  to  be 
sweeping  over  the  country." 

Williams,  who  was  one  of  the  officers  of  the  com- 
pany, smiled  somewhat  wearily,  I  thought.  "  We 
are,"  he  replied  drily.  "  That  was  precisely  what 
I  wanted  to  see  you  about." 

"What?     The  premiums  or  the  epidemic?" 

"  Well — er — both,  perhaps.  I  needn't  say  much 
about  the  epidemic,  as  you  call  it.  To  you  I  can 
admit  it;  to  the  newspapers,  never.  Still,  I  suppose 
you  know  that  it  is  variously  estimated  that  the 
forgers  of  the  country  are  getting  away  with  from 

221 


222  THE  POISONED  PEN 

ten  to  fifteen  million  dollars  a  year.  It  is  just  one 
case  that  I  was  thinking  about — one  on  which  the 
regular  detective  agencies  we  employ  seem  to  have 
failed  utterly  so  far.  It  involves  pretty  nearly  one 
of  those  fifteen  millions." 

"What?  One  case?  A  million  dollars?" 
gasped  Kennedy,  gazing  fixedly  at  Williams  as  if 
he  found  it  difficult  to  believe. 

"  Exactly,"  replied  Williams  imperturbably, 
"  though  it  was  not  done  all  at  one  fell  swoop,  of 
course,  but  gradually,  covering  a  period  of  some 
months.  You  have  doubtless  heard  of  the  By- 
Products  Company  of  Chicago?  " 

Craig  nodded. 

"  Well,  it  is  their  case,"  pursued  Williams,  losing 
his  quiet  manner  and  now  hurrying  ahead  almost 
breathlessly.  "  You  know  they  own  a  bank  out 
there  also,  called  the  By-Products  Bank.  That's 
how  we  come  to  figure  in  the  case,  by  having  insured 
their  bank  against  forgery.  Of  course  our  liability 
runs  up  only  to  $50,000.  But  the  loss  to  the  com- 
pany as  well  as  to  its  bank  through  this  affair  will 
reach  the  figure  I  have  named.  They  will  have  to 
stand  the  balance  beyond  our  liability  and,  well, 
fifty  thousand  is  not  a  small  sum  for  us  to  lose, 
either.  We  can't  afford  to  lose  it  without  a  fight." 

"  Of  course  not.  But  you  must  have  some  sus- 
picions, some  clues.  You  must  have  taken  some 
action  in  tracing  the  thing  out,  whatever  is  back 
of  it." 

"  Surely.  For  instance,  only  the  other  day  we 
had  the  cashier  of  the  bank,  Bolton  Brown,  arrested, 


THE  FORGER  223 

though  he  is  out  on  bail  now.  We  haven't  anything 
directly  against  him,  but  he  is  suspected  of  com- 
plicity on  the  inside,  and  I  may  say  that  the  thing 
is  so  gigantic  that  there  must  have  been  some  one 
on  the  inside  concerned  with  it.  Among  other  things 
we  have  found  that  Bolton  Brown  has  been  leading 
a  rather  fast  life,  quite  unknown  to  his  fellow- 
officials.  We  know  that  he  has  been  speculating 
secretly  in  the  wheat  corner  that  went  to  pieces,  but 
the  most  significant  thing  is  that  he  has  been  alto- 
gether too  intimate  with  an  adventuress,  Adele  De- 
Mott,  who  has  had  some  success  as  a  woman  of 
high  finance  in  various  cities  here  and  in  Europe 
and  even  in  South  America.  It  looks  bad  for  him 
from  the  commonsense  standpoint,  though  of  course 
I'm  not  competent  to  speak  of  the  legal  side  of  the 
matter.  But,  at  any  rate,  we  know  that  the  in- 
sider must  have  been  some  one  pretty  close  to  the 
head  of  the  By-Products  Company  or  the  By- 
Products  Bank." 

"What  was  the  character  of  the  forgeries?" 
asked  Kennedy. 

"  They  seem  to  have  been  of  two  kinds.  As  far 
as  we  are  concerned  it  is  the  check  forgeries  only 
that  interest  the  Surety  Company.  For  some  time, 
apparently,  checks  have  been  coming  into  the  bank 
for  sums  all  the  way  from  a  hundred  dollars  to 
five  thousand.  They  have  been  so  well  executed 
that  some  of  them  have  been  certified  by  the  bank, 
all  of  them  have  been  accepted  when  they  came 
back  from  other  banks,  and  even  the  officers  of  the 
company  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  pick  any  flaws 


224  THE  POISONED  PEN 

in  them  except  as  to  the  payee  and  the  amounts  for 
which  they  were  drawn.  They  have  the  correct 
safety  tint  on  the  paper  and  are  stamped  with  rubber 
stamps  that  are  almost  precisely  like  those  used  by 
the  By-Products  Company. 

"  You  know  that  banking  customs  often  make 
some  kinds  of  fraud  comparatively  easy.  For  in- 
stance no  bank  will  pay  out  a  hundred  dollars  or 
often  even  a  dollar  without  identification,  but  they 
will  certify  a  check  for  almost  any  office  boy  who 
comes  in  with  it.  The  common  method  of  forgers 
lately  has  been  to  take  such  a  certified  forged  check, 
deposit  it  in  another  bank,  then  gradually  with- 
draw it  in  a  few  days  before  there  is  time  to  dis- 
cover the  forgery.  In  this  case  they  must  have 
had  the  additional  advantage  that  the  insider  in  the 
company  or  bank  could  give  information  and  tip 
the  forger  off  if  the  forgery  happened  to  be  dis- 
covered." 

"  Who  is  the  treasurer  of  the  company?  "  asked 
Craig  quickly. 

"  John  Carroll — merely  a  figurehead,  I  under- 
stand. He's  in  New  York  now,  working  with  us,  as 
I  shall  tell  you  presently.  If  there  is  any  one  else 
besides  Brown  in  it,  it  might  be  Michael  Dawson, 
the  nominal  assistant  but  really  the  active  treasurer. 
.There  you  have  another  man  whom  we  suspect,  and, 
strangely  enough,  can't  find.  Dawson  was  the  as- 
sistant treasurer  of  the  company,  you  understand, 
not  of  the  bank." 

"You  can't  find  him?  Why?"  asked  Kennedy, 
considerably  puzzled. 


THE  FORGER  225 

"  No,  we  can't  find  him.  He  was  married  a  few 
days  ago,  married  a  pretty  prominent  society  girl 
in  the  city,  Miss  Sibyl  Sanderson.  It  seems  they 
kept  the  itinerary  of  their  honeymoon  secret,  more 
as  a  joke  on  their  friends  than  anything  else,  they 
said,  for  Miss  Sanderson  was  a  well-known  beauty 
and  the  newspapers  bothered  the  couple  a  good  deal 
with  publicity  that  was  distasteful.  At  least  that 
was  his  story.  No  one  knows  where  they  are  or 
whether  they'll  ever  turn  up  again. 

"  You  see,  this  getting  married  had  something  to 
do  with  the  exposure  in  the  first  place.  For  the 
major  part  of  the  forgeries  consists  not  so  much 
in  the  checks,  which  interest  my  company,  but  in 
fraudulently  issued  stock  certificates  of  the  By- 
Products  Company.  About  a  million  of  the  com- 
mon stock  was  held  as  treasury  stock — was  never 
issued. 

''  Some  one  has  issued  a  large  amount  of  it,  all 
properly  signed  and  sealed.  Whoever  it  was  had 
a  little  office  in  Chicago  from  which  the  stock  was 
sold  quietly  by  a  confederate,  probably  a  woman, 
for  women  seem  to  rope  in  the  suckers  best  in  these 
get-rich-quick  schemes.  And,  well,  if  it  was  Daw- 
son  the  honeymoon  has  given  him  a  splendid  chance 
to  make  his  get-away,  though  it  also  resulted  in  the 
exposure  of  the  forgeries.  Carroll  had  to  take  up 
more  or  less  active  duty,  with  the  result  that  a  new 
man  unearthed  the — but,  say,  are  you  really  inter- 
ested in  this  case?  " 

Williams  was  leaning  forward,  looking  anxiously 
at  Kennedy  and  it  would  not  have  taken  a  clair- 


226  THE  POISONED  PEN 

voyant  to  guess  what  answer  he  wanted  to  his  abrupt 
question. 

"  Indeed  I  am,"  replied  Craig,  "  especially  as 
there  seems  to  be  a  doubt  about  the  guilty  person 
on  the  inside." 

"  There  is  doubt  enough,  all  right,"  rejoined 
Williams,  "  at  least  I  think  so,  though  our  detectives 
in  Chicago  who  have  gone  over  the  thing  pretty 
thoroughly  have  been  sure  of  fixing  something  on 
Bolton  Brown,  the  cashier.  You  see  the  blank  stock 
certificates  were  kept  in  the  company's  vault  in  the 
bank  to  which,  of  course,  Brown  had  access.  But 
then,  as  Carroll  argues,  Dawson  had  access  to  them, 
too,  which  is  very  true — more  so  for  Dawson  than 
for  Brown,  who  was  in  the  bank  and  not  in  the 
company.  Fm  all  at  sea.  Perhaps  if  you're  in- 
terested you'd  better  see  Carroll.  He's  here  in  the 
city  and  I'm  sure  I  could  get  you  a  good  fee  out 
of  the  case  if  you  cared  to  take  it  up.  Shall  I  see 
if  I  can  get  him  on  the  wire?  " 

We  had  finished  luncheon  and,  as  Craig  nodded, 
Williams  dived  into  a  telephone  booth  outside  the 
dining-room  and  in  a  few  moments  emerged,  per- 
spiring from  the  closeness.  He  announced  that 
Carroll  requested  that  we  call  on  him  at  an  office 
in  Wall  Street,  a  few  blocks  away,  where  he  made 
his  headquarters  when  he  was  in  New  York.  The 
whole  thing  was  done  with  such  despatch  that  I  could 
not  help  feeling  that  Carroll  had  been  waiting  to 
hear  from  his  friend  in  the  insurance  company.  The 
look  of  relief  on  Williams's  face  when  Kennedy  said 
he  would  go  immediately  showed  plainly  that  the  in- 


THE  FORGER  227 

surance  man  considered  the  cost  of  the  luncheon, 
which  had  been  no  slight  affair,  in  the  light  of  a 
good  investment  in  the  interest  of  his  company,  which 
was  "  in  bad  "  for  the  largest  forgery  insurance  loss 
since  they  had  begun  to  write  that  sort  of  business. 

As  we  hurried  down  to  Wall  Street,  Kennedy  took 
occasion  to  remark,  "  Science  seems  to  have  safe- 
guarded banks  and  other  institutions  pretty  well 
against  outside  robbery.  But  protection  against 
employees  who  can  manipulate  books  and  records 
does  not  seem  to  have  advanced  as  rapidly.  Some- 
times I  think  it  may  have  lessened.  Greater  tempta- 
tions assail  the  cashier  or  clerk  with  greater  oppor- 
tunity for  speculation,  and  the  banks,  as  many 
authorities  will  agree,  have  not  made  enough  use  of 
the  machinery  available  to  put  a  stop  to  embezzle- 
ment. This  case  is  evidently  one  of  the  results.  The 
careless  fellows  at  the  top,  like  this  man  Carroll 
whom  we  are  going  to  see,  generally  put  forward  as 
excuse  the  statement  that  the  science  of  banking  and 
of  business  is  so  complex  that  a  rascal  with  ingenuity 
enough  to  falsify  the  books  is  almost  impossible  of 
detection.  Yet  when  the  cat  is  out  of  the  bag  as 
in  several  recent  cases  the  methods  used  are  often 
of  the  baldest  and  most  transparent  sort,  fictitious 
names,  dummies,  and  all  sorts  of  juggling  and  kit- 
ing of  checks.  But  I  hardly  think  this  is  going  to 
prove  one  of  those  simple  cases." 

John  Carroll  was  a  haggard  and  unkempt  sort 
of  man.  He  looked  to  me  as  if  the  defalcations 
had  preyed  on  his  mind  until  they  had  become  a 
veritable  obsession.  It  was  literally  true  that  they 


228  THE  POISONED  PEN 

were  all  that  he  could  talk  about,  all  that  he  was 
thinking  about.  He  was  paying  now  a  heavy  pen- 
alty for  having  been  a  dummy  and  honorary  officer. 

'  This  thing  has  become  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  with  me,"  he  began  eagerly,  scarcely  waiting 
for  us  to  introduce  ourselves,  as  he  fixed  his  un- 
naturally bright  eyes  on  us  anxiously.  "  I've  simply 
got  to  find  the  man  who  has  so  nearly  wrecked  the* 
By-Products  Bank  and  Company.  Find  him  or  not, 
I  suppose  I  am  a  ruined  man,  myself,  but  I  hope  I 
may  still  prove  myself  honest." 

He  sighed  and  his  eyes  wandered  vacantly  out 
of  the  window  as  if  he  were  seeking  rest  and  could 
not  find  it. 

"  I  understand  that  the  cashier,  Bolton  Brown, 
has  been  arrested,"  prompted  Kennedy. 

"  Yes,  Bolton  Brown,  arrested,"  he  repeated 
slowly,  "  and  since  he  has  been  out  on  bail  he,  too, 
seems  to  have  disappeared.  Now  let  me  tell  you 
about  what  I  think  of  that,  Kennedy.  I  know  it 
looks  bad  for  Brown.  Perhaps  he's  the  man.  The 
Surety  Company  says  so,  anyway.  But  we  must 
look  at  this  thing  calmly." 

He  was  himself  quite  excited,  as  he  went  on,  "  You 
understand,  I  suppose,  just  how  much  Brown  must 
have  been  reasonably  responsible  for  passing  the 
checks  through  the  bank?  He  saw  personally  about 
as  many  of  them  as — as  I  did,  which  was  none  until 
the  exposure  came.  They  were  deposited  in  other 
banks  by  people  whom  we  can't  identify  but  who 
must  have  opened  accounts  for  the  purpose  of  finally 
putting  through  a  few  bad  checks.  Then  they  came 


THE  FORGER  229 

back  to  our  bank  in  the  regular  channels  and  were 
accepted.  By  various  kinds  of  juggling  they  were 
covered  up.  Why,  some  of  them  looked  so  good 
that  they  were  even  certified  by  our  bank  before 
they  were  deposited  in  the  other  banks.  Now,  as 
Brown  claims,  he  never  saw  checks  unless  there 
was  something  special  about  them  and  there  seemed 
at  the  time  to  be  nothing  wrong  about  these. 

"  But  in  the  public  mind  I  know  there  is  prejudice 
against  any  bank  official  who  speculates  or  leads  a 
fast  life,  and  of  course  it  is  warranted.  Still,  if 
Brown  should  clear  himself  finally  the  thing  will 
come  back  to  Dawson  and  even  if  he  is  guilty,  it 
will  make  me  the — er — the  ultimate  goat.  The  up- 
shot of  it  all  will  be  that  I  shall  have  to  stand 
the  blame,  if  not  the  guilt,  and  the  only  way  I  can 
atone  for  my  laxity  in  the  past  is  by  activity  in 
catching  the  real  offender  and  perhaps  by  restoring 
to  the  company  and  the  bank  whatever  can  yet  be 
recovered." 

"  But,"  asked  Kennedy  sympathetically,  "  what 
makes  you  think  that  you  will  find  your  man,  who- 
ever he  proves  to  be,  in  New  York?  " 

"  I  admit  that  it  is  only  a  very  slight  clue  that  I 
have,"  he  replied  confidentially.  "  It  is  just  a  hint 
Dawson  dropped  once  to  one  of  the  men  with  whom 
he  was  confidential  in  the  company.  This  clerk  told 
me  that  a  long  time  ago  Dawson  said  he  had  always 
wanted  to  go  to  South  America  and  that  perhaps 
on  his  honeymoon  he  might  get  a  chance.  This  is 
the  way  I  figured  it  out.  You  see,  he  is  clever  and 
some  of  these  South  American  countries  have  no 


230  THE  POISONED  PEN 

extradition  treaties  with  us  by  which  we  could  reach 
him,  once  he  got  there." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  already  arrived  in  one  of  them 
with  his  wife.  What  makes  you  think  he  hasn't 
sailed  yet?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  he  has.  You  see,  she  wanted 
to  spend  a  part  of  the  honeymoon  at  Atlantic  City. 
I  learned  that  indirectly  from  her  folks,  who  profess 
to  know  no  better  than  we  do  where  the  couple  are. 
That  was  an  additional  reason  why  I  wanted  to  see 
if  by  coming  to  New  York  I  might  not  pick  up 
some  trace  of  them,  either  here  or  in  Atlantic  City." 

"And  have  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have."  He  handed  us  a  letter- 
gram which  he  had  just  received  from  Chicago.  It 
read:  "  Two  more  checks  have  come  in  to-day  from 
Atlantic  City  and  New  York.  They  seem  to  be 
in  payment  of  bills,  as  they  are  for  odd  amounts. 
One  is  from  the  Lorraine  at  Atlantic  City  and  the 
other  from  the  Hotel  Amsterdam  of  New  York. 
They  were  dated  the  I9th  and  2Oth." 

'  You  see,"  he  resumed  as  we  finished  reading, 
"  it  is  now  the  23rd,  so  that  there  is  a  difference 
of  three  days.  He  was  here  on  the  2Oth.  Now  the 
next  ship  that  he  could  take  after  the  2Oth  sails 
from  Brooklyn  on  the  25th.  If  he's  clever  he  won't 
board  that  ship  except  in  a  disguise,  for  he  will 
know  that  by  that  time  some  one  must  be  watching. 
Now  I  want  you  to  help  me  penetrate  that  disguise. 
Of  course  we  can't  arrest  the  whole  shipload  of 
passengers,  but  if  you,  with  your  scientific  knowl- 
edge, could  pick  him  out,  then  we  could  hold  him 


THE  FORGER  231 

and  have  breathing  space  to  find  out  whether  he 
is  guilty  alone  or  has  been  working  with  Bolton 
Brown." 

Carroll  was  now  pacing  the  office  with  excitement 
as  he  unfolded  his  scheme  which  meant  so  much 
for  himself. 

"  H — m,"  mused  Kennedy.  "  I  suppose  Dawson 
was  a  man  of  exemplary  habits?  They  almost  al- 
ways are.  No  speculating  or  fast  living  with  him 
as  with  Brown?  " 

Carroll  paused  in  his  nervous  tread.  "  That's 
another  thing  I've  discovered.  On  the  contrary,  I 
think  Dawson  was  a  secret  drug  fiend.  I  found 
that  out  after  he  left.  In  his  desk  at  the  By- 
Products  office  we  discovered  hypodermic  needles 
and  a  whole  outfit — morphine,  I  think  it  was.  You 
know  how  cunningly  a  real  morphine  fiend  can  cover 
up  his  tracks." 

Kennedy  was  now  all  attention.  As  the  case  un- 
rolled it  was  assuming  one  new  and  surprising  aspect 
after  another. 

"  The  lettergram  would  indicate  that  he  had  been 
stopping  at  the  Lorraine  in  Atlantic  City,"  remarked 
Kennedy. 

"  So  I  would  infer,  and  at  the  Amsterdam  in 
New  York.  But  you  can  depend  on  it  that  he  has 
not  been  going  under  his  own  name  nor,  I  believe 
as  far  as  I  can  find  out,  even  under  his  own  face. 
I  think  the  fellow  has  already  assumed  a  disguise, 
for  nowhere  can  I  find  any  description  that  even  I 
could  recognise." 

"  Strange,"  murmured  Kennedy.     "  I'll  have  to 


232  THE  POISONED  PEN 

look  into  it.  And  only  two  days  in  which  to  do  it, 
too.  You  will  pardon  me  if  I  excuse  myself  now? 
There  are  certain  aspects  of  the  case  that  I  hope  I 
shall  be  able  to  shed  some  light  on  by  going  at  them 
at  once." 

"  You'll  find  Dawson  clever,  clever  as  he  can  be," 
said  Carroll,  not  anxious  to  have  Kennedy  go  as 
long  as  he  would  listen  to  the  story  which  was  burst- 
ing from  his  overwrought  mind.  "  He  was  able  to 
cover  up  the  checks  by  juggling  the  accounts.  But 
that  didn't  satisfy  him.  He  was  after  something 
big.  So  he  started  in  to  issue  the  treasury  stock, 
forging  the  signatures  of  -the  president  and  the 
treasurer,  that  is,  my  signature.  Of  course  that 
sort  of  game  couldn't  last  forever.  Some  one  was 
going  to  demand  dividends  on  his  stock,  or  transfer 
it,  or  ask  to  have  it  recorded  on  the  books,  or  some- 
thing that  would  give  the  whole  scheme  away.  From 
each  person  to  whom  he  sold  stock  I  believe  he 
demanded  some  kind  of  promise  not  to  sell  it  within 
a  certain  period,  and  in  that  way  we  figure  that 
he  gave  himself  plenty  of  time  to  realise  several 
hundred  thousand  dollars  quietly.  It  may  be  that 
some  of  the  forged  checks  represented  fake  interest 
payments.  Anyhow,  he's  at  the  end  of  his  rope 
now.  We've  had  an  exciting  chase.  I  had  fol- 
lowed down  several  false  clues  before  the  real  sig- 
nificance of  the  hint  about  South  America  dawned 
on  me.  Now  I  have  gone  as  far  as  I  dare  with  it 
without  calling  in  outside  assistance.  I  think  now 
we  are  up  with  him  at  last — with  your  help." 

Kennedy  was  anxious  to  go,  but  he  paused  long 


THE  FORGER  233 

enough  to  ask  another  question.  "  And  the  girl?  " 
he  broke  in.  "  She  must  be  in  the  game  or  her 
letters  to  some  of  her  friends  would  have  betrayed 
their  whereabouts.  What  was  she  like?  " 

"  Miss  Sanderson  was  very  popular  in  a  certain 
rather  flashy  set  in  Chicago.  But  her  folks  were 
bounders.  They  lived  right  up  to  the  limit,  just  as 
Dawson  did,  in  my  opinion.  Oh,  you  can  be  sure 
that  if  a  proposition  like  this  were  put  up  to  her  she'd 
take  a  chance  to  get  away  with  it.  She  runs  no  risks. 
She  didn't  do  it  anyhow,  and  as  for  her  part,  after 
the  fact,  why,  a  woman  is  always  pretty  safe — more 
sinned  against  than  sinning,  and  all  that.  It's  a 
queer  sort  of  honeymoon,  hey?  " 

"  Have  you  any  copies  of  the  forged  certificates?  " 
asked  Craig. 

"  Yes,  plenty  of  them.  Since  the  story  has  been 
told  in  print  they  have  been  pouring  in.  Here  are 
several." 

He  pulled  several  finely  engraved  certificates  from 
his  pocket  and  Kennedy  scrutinised  them  minutely. 

"  I  may  keep  these  to  study  at  my  leisure?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Carroll,  "  and  if  you  want 
any  more  I  can  wire  to  Chicago  for  them." 

"  No,  these  will  be  sufficient  for  the  present,  thank 
you,"  said  Craig.  "  I  shall  keep  in  touch  with  you 
and  let  you  know  the  moment  anything  develops." 

Our  ride  uptown  to  the  laboratory  was  completed 
in  silence  which  I  did  not  interrupt,  for  I  could  see 
that  Kennedy  was  thinking  out  a  course  of  action. 
The  quick  pace  at  which  he  crossed  the  campus  to 


234  THE  POISONED  PEN 

the  Chemistry  Building  told  me  that  he  had  de- 
cided on  something. 

In  the  laboratory  Craig  hastily  wrote  a  note, 
opened  a  drawer  of  his  desk,  and  selected  one  from 
a  bunch  of  special  envelopes  which  he  seemed  to  be 
saving  for  some  purpose.  He  sealed  it  with  some 
care,  and  gave  it  to  me  to  post  immediately.  It 
was  addressed  to  Dawson  at  the  Hotel  Amsterdam. 

On  my  return  I  found  him  deeply  engrossed  in 
the  examination  of  the  forged  shares  of  stock. 
Having  talked  with  him  more  or  less  in  the  past 
about  handwriting  I  did  not  have  to  be  told  that 
he  was  using  a  microscope  to  discover  any  erasures 
and  that  photography  both  direct  and  by  transmitted 
light  might  show  something. 

"  I  can't  see  anything  wrong  with  these  docu- 
ments," he  remarked  at  length.  "  They  show  no 
erasures  or  alterations.  On  their  face  they  look  as 
good  as  the  real  article.  Even  if  they  are  tracings 
they  are  remarkably  fine  work.  It  certainly  is  a 
fact,  however,  that  they  superimpose.  They  might 
all  have  been  made  from  the  same  pair  of  signatures 
of  the  president  and  treasurer. 

*'  I  need  hardly  to  say  to  you,  Walter,  that  the 
microscope  in  its  various  forms  and  with  its  various 
attachments  is  of  great  assistance  to  the  document 
examiner.  Even  a  low  magnification  frequently  re- 
veals a  drawing,  hesitating  method  of  production, 
or  patched  and  reinforced  strokes  as  well  as  erasures 
by  chemicals  or  by  abrasion.  The  stereoscopic 
microscope,  which  is  of  value  in  studying  abrasions 
and  alterations  since  it  gives  depth,  in  this  case  tells 


THE  FORGER  235 

me  that  there  has  been  nothing  of  that  sort  practised. 
My  colour  comparison  microscope,  which  permits  the 
comparison  of  the  ink  on  two  different  documents 
or  two  places  on  one  document  afr  the  same  time, 
tells  me  something.  This  instrument  with  new  and 
accurately  coloured  glasses  enables  me  to  measure 
the  tints  of  the  ink  of  these  signatures  with  the 
greatest  accuracy  and  I  can  do  what  was  hitherto 
impossible — determine  how  long  the  writing  has 
been  on  the  paper.  I  should  say  it  was  all  very 
recent,  approximately  within  the  last  two  months 
or  six  weeks,  and  I  believe  that  whenever  the  stock 
may  have  been  issued  it  at  least  was  all  forged 
at  the  same  time. 

'  There  isn't  time  now  to  go  into  the  thing  more 
deeply,  but  if  it  becomes  necessary  I  can  go  back  to 
it  with  the  aid  of  the  camera  lucida  and  the  micro- 
scopic enlarger,  as  well  as  this  specially  constructed 
document  camera  with  lenses  certified  by  the  gov- 
ernment. If  it  comes  to  a  show-down  I  suppose  I 
shall  have  to  prove  my  point  with  the  micrometer 
measurements  down  to  the  fifty-thousandth  part  of 
an  inch. 

"  There  is  certainly  something  very  curious  about 
these  signatures,"  he  concluded.  "  I  don't  know 
what  measurements  would  show,  but  they  are  really 
too  good.  You  know  a  forged  signature  may  be 
of  two  kinds — too  bad  or  too  good.  These  are,  I 
believe,  tracings.  If  they  were  your  signature  and 
mine,  Walter,  I  shouldn't  hesitate  to  pronounce  them 
tracings.  But  there  is  always  some  slight  room  for 
doubt  in  these  special  cases  where  a  man  sits  down 


236  THE  POISONED  PEN 

and  is  in  the  habit  of  writing  his  signature  over 
and  over  again  on  one  stock  or  bond  after  another. 
He  may  get  so  used  to  it  that  he  does  it  automat- 
ically and  his  signatures  may  come  pretty  close  to 
superimposing.  If  I  had  time,  though,  I  think  I 
could  demonstrate  that  there  are  altogether  too 
many  points  of  similarity  for  these  to  be  genuine 
signatures.  But  we've  got  to  act  quickly  in  this 
case  or  not  at  all,  and  I  see  that  if  I  am  to  get  to 
Atlantic  City  to-night  I  can't  waste  much  more  time 
here.  I  wish  you  would  keep  an  eye  on  the  Hotel 
Amsterdam  while  I  am  gone,  Walter,  and  meet  me 
here,  to-morrow.  I'll  wire  when  I'll  be  back. 
Good-bye." 

It  was  well  along  in  the  afternoon  when  Kennedy 
took  a  train  for  the  famous  seaside  resort,  leaving 
me  in  New  York  with  a  roving  commission  to  do 
nothing.  All  that  I  was  able  to  learn  at  the  Hotel 
Amsterdam  was  that  a  man  with  a  Van  Dyke  beard 
had  stung  the  office  with  a  bogus  check,  although 
he  had  seemed  to  come  well  recommended.  The 
description  of  the  woman  with  him  who  seemed  to 
be  his  wife  might  have  fitted  either  Mrs.  Dawson 
or  Adele  DeMott.  The  only  person  who  had  called 
had  been  a  man  who  said  he  represented  the  By- 
Products  Company  and  was  the  treasurer.  He  had 
questioned  the  hotel  people  rather  closely  about  the 
whereabouts  of  the  couple  who  had  paid  their  ex- 
penses with  the  worthless  slip  of  paper.  It  was 
not  difficult  to  infer  that  this  man  was  Carroll  who 
had  been  hot  on  the  trail,  especially  as  he  said  that 
he  personally  would  see  the  check  paid  if  the  hotel 


THE  FORGER  237 

people  would  keep  a  sharp  watch  for  the  return 
of  the  man  who  had  swindled  them. 

Kennedy  wired  as  he  promised  and  returned  by 
an  early  train  the  next  day. 

He  seemed  bursting  with  news.  "  I  think  I'm 
on  the  trail,"  he  cried,  throwing  his  grip  into  a 
corner  and  not  waiting  for  me  to  ask  him  what 
success  he  had  had.  "  I  went  directly  to  the  Lor- 
raine and  began  frankly  by  telling  them  that  I  rep- 
resented the  By-Products  Company  in  New  York 
and  was  authorised  to  investigate  the  bad  check 
which  they  had  received.  They  couldn't  describe 
Dawson  very  well — at  least  their  description  would 
have  fitted  almost  any  one.  One  thing  I  think  I  did 
learn  and  that  was  that  his  disguise  must  include  a 
Van  Dyke  beard.  He  would  scarcely  have  had  time 
to  grow  one  of  his  own  and  I  believe  when  he  was 
last  seen  in  Chicago  he  was  clean-shaven." 

"  But,"  I  objected,  "  men  with  Van  Dyke  beards 
are  common  enough."  Then  I  related  my  experi- 
ence at  the  Amsterdam. 

"  The  same  fellow,"  ejaculated  Kennedy.  "  The 
beard  seems  to  have  covered  a  multitude  of  sins, 
for  while  every  one  could  recall  that,  no  one  had 
a  word  to  say  about  his  features.  However,  Wal- 
ter, there's  just  one  chance  of  making  his  identifica- 
tion sure,  and  a  peculiar  coincidence  it  is,  too.  It 
seems  that  one  night  this  man  and  a  lady  who  may 
have  been  the  former  Miss  Sanderson,  though  the 
description  of  her  like  most  amateur  descriptions 
wasn't  very  accurate,  were  dining  at  the  Lorraine. 
The  Lorraine  is  getting  up  a  new  booklet  about  its 


238  THE  POISONED  PEN 

accommodations  and  a  photographer  had  been  en- 
gaged to  take  a  flashlight  of  the  dining-room  for 
the  booklet. 

"  No  sooner  had  the  flash  been  lighted  and  the 
picture  taken  than  a  man  with  a  Van  Dyke  beard — 
your  friend  of  the  Amsterdam,  no  doubt,  Walter, — 
rushed  up  to  the  photographer  and  offered  him  fifty 
dollars  for  the  plate.  The  photographer  thought 
at  first  it  was  some  sport  who  had  reasons  for  not 
wishing  to  appear  in  print  in  Atlantic  City,  as  many 
have.  The  man  seemed  to  notice  that  the  pho- 
tographer was  a  little  suspicious  and  he  hastened  to 
make  some  kind  of  excuse  about  '  wanting  the  home 
folks  to  see  how  swell  he  and  his  wife  were  dining 
in  evening  dress.'  It  was  a  rather  lame  excuse,  but 
the  fifty  dollars  looked  good  to  the  photographer 
and  he  agreed  to  develop  the  plate  and  turn  it  over 
with  some  prints  all  ready  for  mailing  the  next  day. 
The  man  seemed  satisfied  and  the  photographer  took 
another  flashlight,  this  time  with  one  of  the  tables 
vacant. 

"  Sure  enough,  the  next  day  the  man  with  a  beard 
turned  up  for  the  plate.  The  photographer  tells 
me  that  he  had  it  all  wrapped  up  ready  to  mail,  just 
to  call  the  fellow's  bluff.  The  man  was  equal  to 
the  occasion,  paid  the  money,  wrote  an  address  on 
the  package  which  the  photographer  did  not  see, 
and  as  there  was  a  box  for  mailing  packages  right 
at  the  door  on  the  boardwalk  there  was  no  excuse 
for  not  mailing  it  directly.  Now  if  I  could  get  hold 
of  that  plate  or  a  print  from  it  I  could  identify 
Dawson  in  his  disguise  in  a  moment.  I've  started 


THE  FORGER  239 

the  post-office  trying  to  trace  that  package  both  at 
Atlantic  City  and  in  Chicago,  where  I  think  it  must 
have  been  mailed.  I  may  hear  from  them  at  any 
moment — at  least,  I  hope." 

The  rest  of  the  afternoon  we  spent  in  canvassing 
the  drug  stores  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Amsterdam, 
Kennedy's  idea  being  that  if  Dawson  was  a  habitual 
morphine  fiend  he  must  have  replenished  his  supply 
of  the  drug  in  New  York,  particularly  if  he  was 
contemplating  a  long  journey  where  it  might  be  diffi- 
cult to  obtain. 

After  many  disappointments  we  finally  succeeded 
in  finding  a  shop  where  a  man  posing  as  a  doctor 
had  made  a  rather  large  purchase.  The  name  he 
gave  was  of  course  of  no  importance.  What  did  in- 
terest us  was  that  again  we  crossed  the  trail  of  a 
man  with  a  Van  Dyke  beard.  He  had  been  accom- 
panied by  a  woman  whom  the  druggist  described  as 
rather  flashily  dressed,  though  her  face  was  hidden 
under  a  huge  hat  and  a  veil.  "  Looked  very  attrac- 
tive," as  the  druggist  put  it,  "  but  she  might  have 
been  a  negress  for  all  I  could  tell  you  of  her  face." 

"  Humph,"  grunted  Kennedy,  as  we  were  leaving 
the  store.  "  You  wouldn't  believe  it,  but  it  is  the 
hardest  thing  in  the  world  to  get  an  accurate  descrip- 
tion of  any  one.  The  psychologists  have  said 
enough  about  it,  but  you  don't  realise  it  until  you 
are  up  against  it.  Why,  that  might  have  been  the 
DeMott  woman  just  as  well  as  the  former  Miss 
Sanderson,  and  the  man  might  have  been  Bolton 
Brown  as  well  as  Dawson,  for  all  we  know. 
They've  both  disappeared  now.  I  wish  we  could 


24o  THE  POISONED  PEN 

get  some  word  about  that  photograph.  That  would 
settle  it." 

In  the  last  mail  that  night  Kennedy  received  back 
the  letter  which  he  had  addressed  to  Michael 
Dawson.  On  it  was  stamped  "  Returned  to  sender. 
Owner  not  found." 

Kennedy  turned  the  letter  over  slowly  and  looked 
at  the  back  of  it  carefully. 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  remarked,  half  to  him- 
self, "  the  owner  was  found.  Only  he  returned  the 
letter  back  to  the  postman  after  he  had  opened  it 
and  found  that  it  was  just  a  note  of  no  importance 
which  I  scribbled  just  to  see  if  he  was  keeping  in 
touch  with  things  from  his  hiding-place,  wherever 
it  is." 

"  How  do  you  know  he  opened  it?  "  I  asked. 

"  Do  you  see  those  blots  on  the  back?  I  had 
several  of  these  envelopes  prepared  ready  for  use 
when  I  needed  them.  I  had  some  tannin  placed 
on  the  flap  and  then  covered  thickly  with  gum.  On 
the  envelope  itself  was  some  iron  sulphate  under 
more  gum.  I  carefully  sealed  the  letter,  using  very 
little  moisture.  The  gum  then  separated  the  two 
prepared  parts.  Now  if  that  letter  were  steamed 
open  the  tannin  and  the  sulphate  would  come  to- 
gether, run,  and  leave  a  smudge.  You  see  the 
blots?  The  inference  is  obvious." 

Clearly,  then,  our  chase  was  getting  warmer. 
Dawson  had  been  in  Atlantic  City  at  least  within  a 
few  days.  The  fruit  company  steamer  to  South 
America  on  which  Carroll  believed  he  was  booked 
to  sail  under  an  assumed  name  and  with  an  assumed 


THE  FORGER  241 

face  was  to  sail  the  following  noon.  And  still  we 
had  no  word  from  Chicago  as  to  the  destination  of 
the  photograph,  or  the  identity  of  the  man  in  the 
Van  Dyke  beard  who  had  been  so  particular  to 
disarm  suspicion  in  the  purchase  of  the  plate  from 
the  photographer  a  few  days  before. 

The  mail  also  contained  a  message  from  Williams 
of  the  Surety  Company  with  the  interesting  informa- 
tion that  Bolton  Brown's  attorney  had  refused  to 
say  where  his  client  had  gone  since  he  had  been 
released  on  bail,  but  that  he  would  be  produced 
when  wanted.  Adele  DeMott  had  not  been  seen 
for  several  days  in  Chicago  and  the  police  there 
were  of  the  opinion  that  she  had  gone  to  New  York, 
where  it  would  be  pretty  easy  for  her  to  pass  un- 
noticed. These  facts  further  complicated  the  case 
and  made  the  finding  of  the  photograph  even  more 
imperative. 

If  we  were  going  to  do  anything  it  must  be  done 
quickly.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  The  last  of 
the  fast  trains  for  the  day  had  left  and  the  photo- 
graph, even  though  it  were  found,  could  not  possibly 
reach  us  in  time  to  be  of  use  before  the  steamer 
sailed  from  Brooklyn.  It  was  an  emergency  such 
as  Kennedy  had  never  yet  faced,  apparently  physic- 
ally insuperable. 

But,  as  usual,  Craig  was  not  without  some  re- 
source, though  it  looked  impossible  to  me  to  do 
anything  but  make  a  hit  or  miss  arrest  at  the  boat. 
It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  he  returned  from 
a  conference  with  an  officer  of  the  Telegraph  and 
Telephone  Company  to  whom  Williams  had  given 


242  THE  POISONED  PEN 

him  a  card  of  introduction.  The  upshot  had  been 
that  he  had  called  up  Chicago  and  talked  for  a  long 
time  with  Professor  Clark,  a  former  classmate  of 
ours  who  was  now  in  the  technology  school  of  the 
university  out  there.  Kennedy  and  Clark  had  been 
in  correspondence  for  some  time,  I  knew,  about 
some  technical  matters,  though  I  had  no  idea  what 
it  was  they  concerned. 

'  There's  one  thing  we  can  always  do,"  I  re- 
marked as  we  walked  slowly  over  to  the  laboratory 
from  our  apartment. 

"  What's  that?  "  he  asked  absent-mindedly,  more 
from  politeness  than  anything  else. 

"  Arrest  every  one  with  a  Van  Dyke  beard  who 
goes  on  the  boat  to-morrow,"  I  replied. 

Kennedy  smiled.  "  I  don't  feel  prepared  to  stand 
a  suit  for  false  arrest,"  he  said  simply,  "  especially 
as  the  victim  would  feel  pretty  hot  if  we  caused  him 
to  miss  his  boat.  Men  with  beards  are  not  so  un- 
common, after  all." 

We  had  reached  the  laboratory.  Linemen  were 
stringing  wires  under  the  electric  lights  of  the  cam- 
pus from  the  street  to  the  Chemistry  Building  and 
into  Kennedy's  sanctum. 

That  night  and  far  into  the  morning  Kennedy 
was  working  in  the  laboratory  on  a  peculiarly  com- 
plicated piece  of  mechanism  consisting  of  electro- 
magnets, rolls,  and  a  stylus  and  numerous  other 
contrivances  which  did  not  suggest  to  my  mind  any- 
thing he  had  ever  used  before  in  our  adventures. 
I  killed  time  as  best  I  could  watching  him  adjust  the 
thing  with  the  most  minute  care  and  precision. 


THE  FORGER  243 

Finally  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  as  I  was  not 
likely  to  be  of  the  least  assistance,  even  if  I  had 
been  initiated  into  what  was  afoot,  I  had  as  well 
retire. 

"  There  is  one  thing  you  can  do  for  me  in  the 
morning,  Walter,"  said  Kennedy,  continuing  to  work 
over  a  delicate  piece  of  clockwork  which  formed  a 
part  of  the  apparatus.  "  In  case  I  do  not  see  you 
then,  get  in  touch  with  Williams  and  Carroll  and 
have  them  come  here  about  ten  o'clock  with  an 
automobile.  If  I  am  not  ready  for  them  then  I'm 
afraid  I  never  shall  be,  and  we  shall  have  to  finish 
the  job  with  the  lack  of  finesse  you  suggested  by 
arresting  all  the  bearded  men." 

Kennedy  could  not  have  slept  much  during  the 
night,  for  though  his  bed  had  been  slept  in  he  was 
up  and  away  before  I  could  see  him  again.  I  made 
a  hurried  trip  downtown  to  catch  Carroll  and  Wil- 
liams and  then  returned  to  the  laboratory,  where 
Craig  had  evidently  just  finished  a  satisfactory  pre- 
liminary test  of  his  machine. 

"  Still  no  message,"  he  began  in  reply  to  my 
unspoken  question.  He  was  plainly  growing  rest- 
less with  the  inaction,  though  frequent  talks  over 
long-distance  with  Chicago  seemed  to  reassure  him. 
Thanks  to  the  influence  of  Williams  he  had  at  least 
a  direct  wire  from  his  laboratory  to  the  city  which 
was  now  the  scene  of  action. 

As  nearly  as  I  could  gather  from  the  one-sided 
conversations  I  heard  and  the  remarks  which  Ken- 
nedy dropped,  the  Chicago  post-office  inspectors 
were  still  searching  for  a  trace  of  the  package  from 


244  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Atlantic  City  which  was  to  reveal  the  identity  of 
the  man  who  had  passed  the  bogus  checks  and 
sold  the  forged  certificates  of  stock.  Somewhere 
in  that  great  city  was  a  photograph  of  the  promoter 
and  of  the  woman  who  was  aiding  him  to  escape, 
taken  in  Atlantic  City  and  sent  by  mail  to  Chicago. 
Who  had  received  it?  Would  it  be  found  in  time 
to  be  of  use?  What  would  it  reveal?  It  was  like 
hunting  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack,  and  yet  the 
latest  reports  seemed  to  encourage  Kennedy  with 
the  hope  that  the  authorities  were  at  last  on  the 
trail  of  the  secret  office  from  which  the  stock  had 
been  sold.  He  was  fuming  and  wishing  that  he 
could  be  at  both  ends  of  the  line  at  once. 

"Any  word  from  Chicago  yet?"  appealed  an 
anxious  voice  from  the  doorway. 

We  turned.  There  were  Carroll  and  Williams 
who  had  come  for  us  with  an  automobile  to  go  over 
to  watch  at  the  wharf  in  Brooklyn  for  our  man.  It 
was  Carroll  who  spoke.  The  strain  of  the  suspense 
was  telling  on  him  and  I  could  readily  imagine  that 
he,  like  so  many  others  who  had  never  seen  Ken- 
nedy in  action,  had  not  the  faith  in  Craig's  ability 
which  I  had  seen  tested  so  many  times. 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Kennedy,  still  busy  about  his 
apparatus  on  the  table.  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard 
nothing?  " 

"  Nothing  since  my  note  of  last  night,"  returned 
Williams  impatiently.  "  Our  detectives  still  insist 
that  Bolton  Brown  is  the  man  to  watch,  and  the 
disappearance  of  Adele  DeMott  at  this  time  cer- 
tainly looks  bad  for  him." 


THE  FORGER  245 

"  It  does,  I  admit,"  said  Carroll  reluctantly. 
"  What's  all  this  stuff  on  the  table?  "  he  asked,  in- 
dicating the  magnets,  rolls,  and  clockwork. 

Kennedy  did  not  have  time  to  reply,  for  the  tel- 
ephone bell  was  tinkling  insistently. 

"  I've  got  Chicago  on  the  wire,"  Craig  informed 
us,  placing  his  hand  over  the  transmitter  as  he  waited 
for  long-distance  to  make  the  final  connection. 
"  I'll  try  to  repeat  as  much  of  the  conversation  as 
I  can  so  that  you  can  follow  it.  Hello — yes — this 
is  Kennedy.  Is  that  you,  Clark?  It's  all  arranged 
at  this  end.  How's  your  end  of  the  line?  Have 
you  a  good  connection?  Yes?  My  synchroniser 
is  working  fine  here,  too.  All  right.  Suppose  we 
try  it.  Go  ahead." 

As  Kennedy  gave  a  few  final  touches  to  the 
peculiar  apparatus  on  the  table,  the  cylindrical  drum 
before  us  began  slowly  to  revolve  and  the  stylus 
or  needle  pressed  down  on  the  sensitised  paper  with 
which  the  drum  was  covered,  apparently  with  vary- 
ing intensity  as  it  turned.  Round  and  round  the 
cylinder  revolved  like  a  graphophone. 

"  This,"  exclaimed  Kennedy  proudly,  "  is  the 
1  electric  eye,'  the  telelectrograph  invented  by 
Thorne  Baker  in  England.  Clark  and  I  have  been 
intending  to  try  it  out  for  a  long  time.  It  at  last 
makes  possible  the  electric  transmission  of  photo- 
graphs, using  the  telephone  wires  because  they  are 
much  better  for  such  a  purpose  than  the  telegraph 
wires." 

Slowly  the  needle  was  tracing  out  a  picture  on 
the  paper.  It  was  only  a  thin  band  yet,  but  grad- 


246  THE  POISONED  PEN 

ually  it  was  widening,  though  we  could  not  guess 
what  it  was  about  to  reveal  as  the  ceaseless  revo- 
lutions widened  the  photographic  print. 

"  I  may  say,"  explained  Kennedy  as  we  waited 
breathlessly,  "  that  another  system  known  as  the 
Korn  system  of  telegraphing  pictures  has  also  been 
in  use  in  London,  Paris,  Berlin,  and  other  cities 
at  various  times  for  some  years.  Korn's  apparatus 
depends  on  the  ability  of  the  element  selenium  to 
vary  the  strength  of  an  electric  current  passing 
through  it  in  proportion  to  the  brightness  with 
which  the  selenium  is  illuminated.  A  new  field  has 
been  opened  by  these  inventions  which  are  now  be- 
coming more  and  more  numerous,  since  the  Korn 
system  did  the  pioneering. 

"  The  various  steps  in  sending  a  photograph  by 
the  Baker  telelectrograph  are  not  so  difficult  to 
understand,  after  all.  First  an  ordinary  photo- 
graph is  taken  and  a  negative  made.  Then  a  print 
is  made  and  a  wet  plate  negative  is  printed  on  a 
sheet  of  sensitised  tinfoil  which  has  been  treated 
with  a  single-line  screen.  You  know  a  halftone 
consists  of  a  photograph  through  a  screen  composed 
of  lines  running  perpendicular  to  each  other — a 
coarse  screen  for  newspaper  work,  and  a  fine  screen 
for  better  work,  such  as  in  magazines.  Well,  in  this 
case  the  screen  is  composed  of  lines  running  parallel 
in  one  direction  only,  not  crossing  at  right  angles. 
A  halftone  is  composed  of  minute  points,  some  light, 
some  dark.  This  print  is  composed  of  long  shaded 
lines,  some  parts  light,  others  dark,  giving  the  effect 
of  a  picture,  you  understand?  " 


THE  FORGER  247 

"  Yes,  yes,"  I  exclaimed,  thoroughly  excited. 
"  Go  on." 

;'  Well,"  he  resumed  as  the  print  widened  visibly, 
"  this  tinfoil  negative  is  wrapped  around  a  cylinder 
at  the  other  end  of  the  line  and  a  stylus  with  a  very 
delicate,  sensitive  point  begins  passing  over  it,  cross- 
ing the  parallel  lines  at  right  angles,  like  the  other 
lines  of  a  regular  halftone.  Whenever  the  point  of 
the  stylus  passes  over  one  of  the  lighter  spots  on 
the  photographic  print  it  sends  on  a  longer  electrical 
vibration,  over  the  darker  spots  a  shorter  vibration. 
The  ever  changing  electrical  current  passes  up 
through  the  stylus,  vibrates  with  ever  varying  de- 
grees of  intensity  over  the  thousand  miles  of  tele- 
phone wire  between  Chicago  and  this  instrument 
here  at  the  other  end  of  the  line. 

"  In  this  receiving  apparatus  the  current  causes 
another  stylus  to  pass  over  a  sheet  of  sensitised 
chemical  paper  such  as  we  have  here.  The  receiv- 
ing stylus  passes  over  the  paper  here  synchronously 
with  the  transmitting  stylus  in  Chicago.  The  im- 
pression which  each  stroke  of  the  receiving  stylus 
makes  on  the  paper  is  black  or  light,  according  to 
the  length  of  the  very  quickly  changing  vibrations 
of  the  electric  current.  White  spots  on  the  photo- 
graphic print  come  out  as  black  spots  here  on  the 
sensitised  paper  over  which  this  stylus  is  passing, 
and  vice  versa.  In  that  way  you  can  see  the  positive 
print  growing  here  before  your  very  eyes  as  the 
picture  is  transmitted  from  the  negative  which  Clark 
has  prepared  and  is  sending  from  Chicago." 

As  we  bent  over  eagerly  we  could  indeed  now 


248  THE  POISONED  PEN 

see  what  the  thing  was  doing.  It  was  reproducing 
faithfully  in  New  York  what  could  be  seen  by  the 
mortal  eye  only  in  Chicago. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  Williams,  still  half  incredu- 
lous in  spite  of  the  testimony  of  his  eyes. 

"  It  is  a  photograph  which  I  think  may  aid  us  in 
deciding  whether  it  is  Dawson  or  Brown  who  is 
responsible  for  the  forgeries,"  answered  Kennedy, 
"  and  it  may  help  us  to  penetrate  the  man's  disguise 
yet,  before  he  escapes  to  South  America  or  wherever 
he  plans  to  go." 

"  You'll  have  to  hurry,"  interposed  Carroll,  ner- 
vously looking  at  his  watch.  "  She  sails  in  an  hour 
and  a  half  and  it  is  a  long  ride  over  to  the  pier 
even  with  a  fast  car." 

"  The  print  is  almost  ready,"  repeated  Kennedy 
calmly.  "  By  the  way,  it  is  a  photograph  which 
was  taken  at  Atlantic  City  a  few  days  ago  for  a 
booklet  which  the  Lorraine  was  getting  out.  The 
By-Products  forger  happened  to  get  in  it  and  he 
bribed  the  photographer  to  give  him  the  plate  and 
take  another  picture  for  the  booklet  which  would 
leave  him  out.  The  plate  was  sent  to  a  little  office 
in  Chicago,  discovered  by  the  post-office  inspectors, 
where  the  forged  stock  certificates  were  sold.  I 
understood  from  what  Clark  told  me  over  the  tel- 
ephone before  he  started  to  transmit  the  picture 
that  the  woman  in  it  looked  very  much  like  Adele 
DeMott.  Let  us  see." 

The  machine  had  ceased  to  revolve.  Craig 
stripped  a  still  wet  photograph  off  the  telelectro- 
graph  instrument  and  stood  regarding  it  with  intense 


THE  FORGER  249 

satisfaction.     Outside,  the  car  which  had  been  en- 
gaged to  hurry  us  over  to  Brooklyn  waited. 

"  Morphine  fiends,"  said  Kennedy  as  he  fanned 
the  print  to  dry  it,  "  are  the  most  unreliable  sort 
of  people.     They  cover  their  tracks  with  almost 
diabolical  cunning.     In  fact  they  seem  to  enjoy  it.  « 
For  instance,  the  crimes  committed  by  morphinists   ] 
are  usually  against  property  and  character  and  based 
upon  selfishness,  not  brutal  crimes  such  as  alcohol 
and   other    drugs    induce.     Kleptomania,    forgery, 
swindling,  are  among  the  most  common. 

"  Then,  too,  one  of  the  most  marked  phases  of 
morphinism  is  the  pleasure  its  victims  take  in  con- 
cealing their  motives  and  conduct.  They  have  a 
mania  for  leading  a  double  life,  and  enjoy  the 
deception  and  mask  which  they  draw  about  them- 
selves. Persons  under  the  influence  of  the  drug 
have  less  power  to  resist  physical  and  mental  im- 
pressions and  they  easily  succumb  to  temptations  and 
suggestions  from  others.  Morphine  stands  un- 
equalled as  a  perverter  of  the  moral  sense.  It 
creates  a  person  whom  the  father  of  lies  must  rec- 
ognise as  kindred  to  himself.  I  know  of  a  case 
where  a  judge  charged  a  jury  that  the  prisoner,  a 
morphine  addict,  was  mentally  irresponsible  for  that 
reason.  The  judge  knew  what  he  was  talking  about. 
It  subsequently  developed  that  he  had  been  a  secret 
morphine  fiend  himself  for  years." 

"  Come,  come,"  broke  in  Carroll  impatiently, 
"  we're  wasting  time.  The  ship  sails  in  an  hour 
and  unless  you  want  to  go  down  the  bay  on  a  tug 
you've  got  to  catch  Dawson  now  or  never.  [The 


250  THE  POISONED  PEN 

morphine  business  explains,  but  it  does  not  excuse. 
Come  on,  the  car  is  watiing.  How  long  do  you 
think  it  will  take  us  to  get  over  to " 

"Police  headquarters?"  interrupted  Craig. 
"  About  fifteen  minutes.  This  photograph  shows, 
as  I  had  hoped,  the  real  forger.  John  Carroll,  this 
is  a  peculiar  case.  You  have  forged  the  name  of 
the  president  of  your  company,  but  you  have  also 
traced  your  own  name  very  cleverly  to  look  like 
a  forgery.  It  is  what  is  technically  known  as  auto- 
forgery,  forging  one's  own  handwriting.  At  your 
convenience  we'll  ride  down  to  Centre  Street 
directly." 

Carroll  was  sputtering  and  almost  frothing  at  the 
mouth  with  rage  which  he  made  no  effort  to  sup- 
press. Williams  was  hesitating,  nonplussed,  until 
Kennedy  reached  over  unexpectedly  and  grasped? 
Carroll  by  the  arm.  As  he  shoved  up  Carroll's 
sleeve  he  disclosed  the  forearm  literally  covered 
with  little  punctures  made  by  the  hypodermic  needle, 

"  It  may  interest  you,"  remarked  Kennedy,  still 
holding  Carroll  in  his  vise-like  grip,  while  the  drug 
fiend's  shattered  nerves  caused  him  to  cower  and 
tremble,  "  to  know  that  a  special  detective  working 
for  me  has  located  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dawson  at  Bar 
Harbor,  where  they  are  enjoying  a  quiet  honeymoon. 
Brown  is  safely  in  the  custody  of  his  counsel,  ready 
to  appear  and  clear  himself  as  soon  as  the  public 
opinion  which  has  been  falsely  inflamed  against  him 
subsides.  Your  plan  to  give  us  the  slip  at  the  last 
moment  at  the  wharf  and  board  the  steamer  for 
South  America  has  miscarried.  It  is  now  too  late 


THE  FORGER  251 

to  catch  it,  but  I  shall  send  a  wireless  that  will 
cause  the  arrest  of  Miss  DeMott  the  moment  the 
ship  touches  an  American  port  at  Colon,  even  if 
she  succeeds  in  eluding  the  British  authorities  at 
Kingston.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  much  care  about 
her,  anyway.  Thanks  to  the  telelectrograph  here 
we  have  the  real  criminal." 

Kennedy  slapped  down  the  now  dry  print  that 
had  come  in  over  his  "  seeing  over  a  wire  "  machine. 
Barring  the  false  Van  Dyke  beard,  it  was  the  face 
of  John  Carroll,  forger  and  morphine  fiend.  Next 
him  in  the  picture  in  the  brilliant  and  fashionable 
dining-room  of  the  Lorraine  was  sitting  Adele  De- 
Mott who  had  used  her  victim,  Bolton  Brown,  to 
shield  her  employer,  Carroll. 


IX 
THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY 

"  CRAIG,  do  you  see  that  fellow  over  by  the  desk, 
talking  to  the  night  clerk?"  I  asked  Kennedy  as 
we  lounged  into  the  lobby  of  the  new  Hotel  Van- 
derveer  one  evening  after  reclaiming  our  hats  from 
the  plutocrat  who  had  acquired  the  checking  privi- 
lege. We  had  dined  on  the  roof  garden  of  the 
Vanderveer  apropos  of  nothing  at  all  except  our 
desire  to  become  acquainted  with  a  new  hotel. 

"Yes,"  replied  Kennedy,  "what  of  him?" 

"  He's  the  house  detective,  McBride.  Would 
you  like  to  meet  him?  He's  full  of  good  stories, 
an  interesting  chap.  I  met  him  at  a  dinner  given 
to  the  President  not  long  ago  and  he  told  me  a 
great  yarn  about  how  the  secret  service,  the  police, 
and  the  hotel  combined  to  guard  the  President  dur- 
ing the  dinner.  You  know,  a  big  hotel  is  the  stamp- 
ing ground  for  all  sorts  of  cranks  and  crooks." 

The  house  detective  had  turned  and  had  caught 
my  eye.  Much  to  my  surprise,  he  advanced  to 
meet  me. 

"  Say, — er — er — Jameson,"  he  began,  at  last  re- 
calling my  name,  though  he  had  seen  me  only  once 
and  then  for  only  a  short  time.  "  You're  on  the 
Star,  I  believe?"' 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  wondering  what  he  could  want. 

"  Well — er — do  you  suppose  you  could  do  the 
252 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  253 

house  a  little — er — favour?"  he  asked,  hesitating 
and  dropping  his  voice. 

'  What  is  it?  "  I  queried,  not  feeling  certain  but 
that  it  was  a  veiled  attempt  to  secure  a  little  free 
advertising  for  the  Vanderveer.  "  By  the  way,  let 
me  introduce  you  to  my  friend  Kennedy,  McBride." 

"Craig  Kennedy?"  he  whispered  aside,  turning 
quickly  to  me.  I  nodded. 

"  Mr.  Kennedy,"  exclaimed  the  house  man  defer- 
entially, "  are  you  very  busy  just  now?" 

11  Not  especially  so,"  replied  Craig.  "  My  friend 
Jameson  was  telling  me  that  you  knew  some  inter- 
esting yarns  about  hotel  detective  life.  I  should  like 
to  hear  you  tell  some  of  them,  if  you  are  not  your- 
self too " 

"Perhaps  you'd  rather  see  one  instead?"  in- 
terrupted the  house  detective,  eagerly  scanning 
Craig's  face. 

"  Indeed,  nothing  could  please  me  more.  What 
is  it — a  '  con  '  man  or  a  hotel  '  beat '  ?  " 

McBride  looked  about  to  make  sure  that  no  one 
was  listening.  "  Neither,"  he  whispered.  "  It's 
either  a  suicide  or  a  murder.  Come  upstairs  with 
me.  There  isn't  a  man  in  the  world  I  would  rather 
have  met  at  this  very  instant,  Mr.  Kennedy,  than 
yourself." 

We  followed  McBride  into  an  elevator  which 
he  stopped  at  the  fifteenth  floor.  With  a  nod  to 
the  young  woman  who  was  the  floor  clerk,  the  house 
detective  led  the  way  down  the  thickly  carpeted 
hall,  stopping  at  a  room  which,  we  could  see  through 
the  transom,  was  lighted.  He  drew  a  bunch  of 


254  THE  POISONED  PEN 

keys  from  his  pocket  and  inserted  a  pass  key  into 
the  lock. 

The  door  swung  open  into  a  sumptuously  fitted 
sitting-room.  I  looked  in,  half  fearfully,  but,  al- 
though all  the  lights  were  turned  on,  the  room  was 
empty.  McBride  crossed  the  room  quickly,  opened 
a  door  to  a  bedroom,  and  jerked  his  head  back 
with  a  quick  motion,  signifying  his  desire  for  us  to 
follow. 

Stretched  lifeless  on  the  white  linen  of  the  immac- 
ulate bed  lay  the  form  of  a  woman,  a  beautiful 
woman  she  had  been,  too,  though  not  with  the  fresh- 
ness which  makes  American  women  so  attractive. 
There  was  something  artificial  about  her  beauty, 
the  artificiality  which  hinted  at  a  hidden  story  of 
a  woman  with  a  past. 

She  was  a  foreigner,  apparently  of  one  of  the 
Latin  races,  although  at  the  moment  in  the  horror 
of  the  tragedy  before  us  I  could  not  guess  her 
nationality.  It  was  enough  for  me  that  here  lay 
this  cold,  stony,  rigid  beauty,  robed  in  the  latest 
creations  of  Paris,  alone  in  an  elegantly  furnished 
room  of  an  exclusive  hotel  where  hundreds  of  gay 
guests  were  dining  and  chatting  and  laughing  with- 
out a  suspicion  of  the  terrible  secret  only  a  few 
feet  distant  from  them. 

We  stood  awestruck  for  the  moment. 

4  The  coroner  ought  to  be  here  any  moment," 
remarked  McBride  and  even  the  callousness  of  the 
regular  detective  was  not  sufficient  to  hide  the  real 
feelings  of  the  man.  His  practical  sense  soon  re- 
turned, however,  and  he  continued,  "  Now,  Jame- 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  255 

son,  don't  you  think  you  could  use  a  little  influence 
with  the  newspaper  men  to  keep  this  thing  off  the 
front  pages?  Of  course  something  has  to  be 
printed  about  it.  But  we  don't  want  to  hoodoo  the 
hotel  right  at  the  start.  We  had  a  suicide  the  other 
day  who  left  an  apologetic  note  that  was  played  up 
by  some  of  the  papers.  Now  comes  this  affair. 
The  management  are  just  as  anxious  to  have  the 
crime  cleared  up  as  any  one — if  it  is  a  crime.  But 
can't  it  be  done  with  the  soft  pedal?  We  will  stop 
at  nothing  in  the  way  of  expense — just  so  long  as 
the  name  of  the  Vanderveer  is  kept  in  the  back- 
ground. Only,  I'm  afraid  the  coroner  will  try  to 
rub  it  in  and  make  the  thing  sensational." 

'  What  was  her  name?  "  asked  Kennedy.  "  At 
least,  under  what  name  was  she  registered?  " 

"  She  was  registered  as  Madame  de  Nevers.  It 
is  not  quite  a  week  now  since  she  came  here,  came 
directly  from  the  steamer  Tripolitania.  See,  there 
are  her  trunks  and  things,  all  pasted  over  with 
foreign  labels,  not  an  American  label  among  them. 
I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  that  her  name  was 
fictitious,  for  as  far  as  I  can  see  all  the  ordinary 
marks  of  identification  have  been  obliterated.  It 
will  take  time  to  identify  her  at  the  best,  and  in  the 
meantime,  if  a  crime  has  been  committed,  the  guilty 
person  may  escape.  What  I  want  now,  right  away, 
is  action." 

"  Has  nothing  in  her  actions  about  the  hotel 
offered  any  clue,  no  matter  how  slight?"  asked 
Kennedy. 

"  Plenty   of   things,*    replied    McBride   quickly. 


256  THE  POISONED  PEN 

K  For  one  thing,  she  didn't  speak  very  much  English 
and  her  maid  seemed  to  do  all  the  talking  for  her, 
even  to  ordering  her  meals,  which  were  always 
served  here.  I  did  notice  Madame  a  few  times 
about  the  hotel,  though  she  spent  most  of  her  time 
in  her  rooms.  She  was  attractive  as  the  deuce,  and 
the  men  all  looked  at  her  whenever  she  stirred  out. 
She  never  even  noticed  them.  But  she  was  evi- 
dently expecting  some  one,  for  her  maid  had  left 
word  at  the  desk  that  if  a  Mr.  GonzaleS  called,  she 
was  at  home;  if  any  one  else,  she  was  out.  For 
the  first  day  or  two  she  kept  herself  closely  confined, 
except  that  at  the  end  of  the  second  day  she  took  a 
short  spin  through  the  park  in  a  taxicab — closed, 
even  in  this  hot  weather.  Where  she  went  I  cannot 
say,  but  when  they  returned  the  maid  seemed  rather 
agitated.  At  least  she  was  a  few  minutes  later  when 
she  came  all  the  way  downstairs  to  telephone  from 
a  booth,  instead  of  using  the  room  telephone.  At 
various  times  the  maid  was  sent  out  to  execute  cer- 
tain errands,  but  always  returned  promptly.  Ma- 
dame de  Nevers  was  a  genuine  woman  of  mystery, 
but  as  long  as  she  was  a  quiet  mystery,  I  thought 
it  no  business  of  ours  to  pry  into  the  affairs  of 
Madame." 

"  Did  she  have  any  visitors?  Did  this  Mr.  Gon- 
zales  call?"  asked  Kennedy  at  length. 

"  She  had  one  visitor,  a  woman  who  called  and 
asked  if  a  Madame  de  Nevers  was  stopping  at  the 
hotel,"  answered  McBride.  "  That  was  what  the 
clerk  was  telling  me  when  I  happened  to  catch  sight 
of  you.  He  says  that,  obedient  to  the  orders  from 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  257 

the  maid,  he  told  the  visitor  that  Madame  was  nofi 
at  home." 

"  Who  was  this  visitor,  do  you  suppose?  "  asked 
Craig.  "  Did  she  leave  any  card  or  message?  Is 
there  any  clue  to  her?  " 

The  detective  looked  at  him  earnestly  for  a  time 
as  if  he  hesitated  to  retail  what  might  be  merely 
pure  gossip. 

''  The  clerk  does  not  know  this  absolutely,  but 
from  his  acquaintance  with  society  news  and  the 
illustrated  papers  he  is  sure  that  he  recognised  her. 
He  says  that  he  feels  positive  that  it  was  Miss  Catha- 
rine Lovelace." 

'  The    Southern    heiress,"    exclaimed    Kennedy. 
'  Why,  the  papers  say  that  she  is  engaged " 

"  Exactly,"  cut  in  McBride,  "  the  heiress  who  is 
rumoured  to  be  engaged  to  the  Due  de  Chateau- 
rouge." 

Kennedy  and  I  exchanged  glances.  "  Yes,"  I 
added,  recollecting  a  remark  I  had  heard  a  few  days 
before  from  our  society  reporter  on  the  Star,  "  I 
believe  it  has  been  said  that  Chateaurouge  is  in  this 
country,  incognito." 

"  A  pretty  slender  thread  on  which  to  hang  an 
identification,"  McBride  hastened  to  remark. 
"  Newspaper  photographs  are  not  the  best  means 
of  recognising  anybody.  Whatever  there  may  be 
in  it,  the  fact  remains  that  Madame  de  Nevers,  sup- 
posing that  to  be  her  real  name,  has  been  dead  for 
at  least  a  day  or  two.  The  first  thing  to  be  deter- 
mined is  whether  this  is  a  death  from  natural  causes, 
a  suicide,  or  a  murder.  After  we  have  determined 


258  THE  POISONED  PEN 

that  we  shall  be  in  a  position  to  run  down  this 
Lovelace  clue." 

Kennedy  said  nothing  and  I  could  not  gather 
whether  he  placed  greater  or  less  value  on  the 
suspicion  of  the  hotel  clerk.  He  had  been  making 
a  casual  examination  of  the  body  on  the  bed,  and 
finding  nothing  he  looked  intently  about  the  room 
as  if  seeking  some  evidence  of  how  the  crime  had 
been  committed. 

To  me  the  thing  seemed  incomprehensible,  that 
without  an  outcry  being  overheard  by  any  of  the 
guests  a  murder  could  have  been  done  in  a  crowded 
hotel  in  which  the  rooms  on  every  side  had  been 
occupied  and  people  had  been  passing  through  the 
halls  at  all  hours.  Had  it  indeed  been  a  suicide, 
in  spite  of  McBride's  evident  conviction  to  the  con- 
trary? 

A  low  e»claniation  from  Kennedy  attracted  our 
attention.  Caught  in  the  filmy  lace  folds  of  the 
woman's  dress  he  had  found  a  few  small  and  thin 
pieces  of  glass.  He  was  regarding  them  with  an 
interest  that  was  oblivious  to  everything  else.  As 
he  turned  them  over  and  over  and  tried  to  fit  them 
together  they  seemed  to  form  at  least  a  part  of 
what  had  once  been  a  hollow  globe  of  very  thin 
glass,  perhaps  a  quarter  of  an  inch  or  so  in  diameter. 

"  How  was  the  body  discovered?  "  asked  Craig 
at  length,  looking  up  at  McBride  quickly. 

"  Day  before  yesterday  Madame's  maid  went  to 
the  cashier,"  repeated  the  detective  slowly  as  if 
rehearsing  the  case  as  much  for  his  own  informa- 
tion as  ours,  "  and  said  that  Madame  had  asked  her 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  259 

to  say  to  him  that  she  was  going  away  for  a  few 
days  and  that  under  no  circumstances  was  her  room 
to  be  disturbed  in  her  absence.  The  maid  was  com- 
missioned to  pay  the  bill,  not  only  for  the  time  they 
had  been  here,  but  also  for  the  remainder  of  the 
week,  when  Madame  would  most  likely  return,  if 
not  earlier.  The  bill  was  made  out  and  paid. 

"  Since  then  only  the  chambermaid  has  entered 
this  suite.  The  key  to  that  closet  over  in  the  corner 
was  gone,  and  it  might  have  hidd-en  its  secret  until 
the  end  of  the  week  or  perhaps  a  day  or  two  longer, 
if  the  chambermaid  hadn't  been  a  bit  curious.  She 
hunted  till  she  found  another  key  that  fitted,  and 
opened  the  closet  door,  apparently  to  see  what 
Madame  had  been  so  particular  to  lock  up  in  her 
absence.  There  lay  the  body  of  Madame,  fully 
dressed,  wedged  into  the  narrow  space  and  huddled 
up  in  a  corner.  The  chambermaid  screamed  and 
the  secret  was  out." 

"And  Madame  de  Nevers's  maid?  What  has 
become  of  her?"  asked  Kennedy  eagerly. 

"  She  has  disappeared,"  replied  McBride. 
"  From  the  moment  when  the  bill  was  paid  no  one 
about  the  hotel  has  seen  her." 

"  But  you  have  a  pretty  good  description  of  her, 
one  that  you  could  send  out  in  order  to  find  her 
if  necessary?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  could  give  a  pretty  good  de- 
scription-." 

Kennedy's  eye  encountered  the  curious  gaze  of 
McBride.  "  This  may  prove  to  be  a  most  unusual 
^ase,"  he  remarked  in  answer  to  the  implied  inquiry 


E6o  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  the  detective.  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of 
the  *  endormeurs  '  of  Paris?  " 

McBride  shook  his  head  in  the  negative. 

"  It  is  a  French  word  signifying  a  person  who 
puts  another  to  sleep,  the  sleep  makers,"  explained 
Kennedy.  "  They  are  the  latest  scientific  school  of 
criminals  who  use  the  most  potent,  quickest-acting 
stupefying  drugs.  Some  of  their  exploits  surpass 
anything  hitherto  even  imagined  by  the  European 
police.  The  American  police  have  been  officially 
warned  of  the  existence  of  the  endormeurs  and  full 
descriptions  of  their  methods  and  photographs  of 
their  paraphernalia  have  been  sent  over  here. 

"  There  is  nothing  in  their  repertoire  so  crude 
as  chloral  or  knock-out  drops.  All  the  derivatives 
of  opium  such  as  morphine,  codeine,  heroine,  dio- 
nine,  narceine,  and  narcotine,  to  say  nothing  of 
bromure  d'etyle,  bromoform,  nitrite  d'amyle,  and 
amyline  are  known  to  be  utilised  by  the  endormeurs 
to  put  their  victims  to  sleep,  and  the  skill  which  they 
have  acquired  in  the  use  of  these  powerful  drugs 
establishes  them  as  one  of  the  most  dangerous  groups 
of  criminals  in  existence.  The  men  are  all  of 
superior  intelligence  and  daring;  the  chief  requisite 
of  the  women  is  extreme  beauty  as  well  as  un- 
scrupulousness. 

'  They  will  take  a  little  thin  glass  ball  of  one 
of  these  liquids,  for  instance,  hold  it  in  a  pocket 
handkerchief,  crush  it,  shove  it  under  the  nose  of 
their  victim,  and — whiff ! — the  victim  is  unconscious. 
But  ordinarily  the  endormeur  does  not  kill.  He 
is  usually  satisfied  to  stupefy,  rob,  and  then  leave 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  261 

his  victim.  There  is  something  more  to  this  case 
than  a  mere  suicide  or  murder,  McBride.  Of  course 
she  may  have  committed  suicide  with  the  drugs  of 
the  endormeurs;  then  again  she  may  merely  have 
been  rendered  unconscious  by  those  drugs  and  some 
other  poison  may  have  been  administered.  Depend 
on  it,  there  is  something  more  back  of  this  affair 
than  appears  on  the  surface.  Even  as  far  as  I  have 
gone  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  we  have  run 
across  the  work  of  one  or  perhaps  a  band  of  the 
most  up-to-date  and  scientific  criminals." 

Kennedy  had  scarcely  finished  when  McBride 
brought  his  right  fist  down  with  a  resounding  smack 
into  the  palm  of  his  left  hand. 

"  Say,"  he  cried  in  great  excitement,  "  here's  an- 
other thing  which  may  or  may  not  have  some  con- 
nection with  the  case.  The  evening  after  Madame 
arrived,  I  happened  to  be  walking  through  the  cafe, 
where  I  saw  a  face  that  looked  familiar  to  me.  It 
was  that  of  a  dark-haired,  olive-skinned  man,  a  fas- 
cinating face,  but  a  face  to  be  afraid  of.  I  remem- 
bered him,  I  thought,  from  my  police  experience, 
as  a  notorious  crook  who  had  not  been  seen  in 
New  York  for  years,  a  man  who  in  the  old  days 
used  to  gamble  with  death  in  South  American  revo- 
lutions, a  soldier  of  fortune. 

'  Well,  I  gave  the  waiter,  Charley,  the  wink  and 
he  met  me  in  the  rear  of  the  cafe,  around  a  corner. 
You  know  we  have  a  regular  system  in  the  hotel 
by  which  I  can  turn  all  the  help  into  amateur  sleuths. 
I  told  him  to  be  very  careful  about  the  dark-faced 
man  and  the  younger  man  who  was  with  him,  to 


262  THE  POISONED  PEN 

be  particular  to  wait  on  them  well,  and  to  pick  up 
any  scraps  of  conversation  he  could. 

"  Charley  knows  his  business,  and  the  barest  per- 
ceptible sign  from  me  makes  him  an  obsequious 
waiter.  Of  course  the  dark  man  didn't  notice  it 
at  the  time,  but  if  he  had  been  more  observant 
he  would  have  seen  that  three  times  during  his 
chat  with  his  companion  Charley  had  wiped  off  his 
table  with  lingering  hand.  Twice  he  had  put  fresh 
seltzer  in  his  drink.  Like  a  good  waiter  always 
working  for  a  big  tip  he  had  hovered  near,  his  face 
blank  and  his  eyes  unobservant.  But  that  waiter 
was  an  important  link  in  my  chain  of  protection 
of  the  hotel  against  crooks.  He  was  there  to 
listen  and  to  tip  me  off,  which  he  did  between  orders. 

'  There  wasn't  much  that  he  overheard,  but  what 
there  was  of  it  was  so  suspicious  that  I  did  not 
hesitate  to  conclude  that  the  fellow  was  an  unde- 
sirable guest.  It  was  something  about  the  Panama 
Canal,  and  a  coaling  station  of  a  steamship  and 
fruit  concern  on  the  shore  of  one  of  the  Latin 
American  countries.  It  was,  he  said,  in  reality  to 
be  the  coaling  station  of  a  certain  European  power 
which  he  did  not  name  but  which  the  younger  man 
seemed  to  understand.  They  talked  of  wharves  and 
tracts  of  land,  of  sovereignty  and  blue  prints,  the 
Monroe  Doctrine,  value  in  case  of  war,  and  a  lot 
of  other  things.  Then  they  talked  of  money,  and 
though  Charley  was  most  assiduous  at  the  time  all 
he  overheard  was  something  about  *  ten  thousand 
francs  '  and  '  buying  her  off,'  and  finally  a  whispered 
confidence  of  which  he  caught  the  words,  '  just  a 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  263 

blind  to  get  her  over  here,  away  from  Paris.' 
Finally  the  dark  man  in  an  apparent  burst  of  con- 
fidence said  something  about  '  the  other  plans  being 
the  real  thing  after  all,'  and  that  the  whole  affair 
would  bring  him  in  fifty  thousand  francs,  with  which 
he  could  afford  to  be  liberal.  Charley  could  get 
no  inkling  about  what  that  other  thing  was. 

"  But  I  felt  sure  that  he  had  heard  enough  to 
warrant  the  belief  that  some  kind  of  confidence 
game  was  being  discussed.  To  tell  the  truth  I  didn't 
care  much  what  it  was,  at  the  time.  It  might  have 
been  an  attempt  of  the  dark-visaged  felfow  to  sell 
the  Canal  to  a  come-on.  What  I  wanted  was  to 
have  it  known  that  the  Vanderveer  was  not  to  be  a 
resort  of  such  gentry  as  this.  But  I'm  afraid  it 
was  much  more  serious  than  I  thought  at  the  time. 

"  Well,  the  dark  man  finally  excused  himself  and 
sauntered  into  the  lobby  and  up  to  the  desk,  with 
me  after  him  around  the  opposite  way.  He  was 
looking  over  the  day's  arrivals  on  the  register  when 
I  concluded  that  it  was  about  time  to  do  something. 
I  was  standing  directly  beside  him  lighting  a  cigar. 
I  turned  quickly  on  him  and  deliberately  trod  on 
the  man's  patent  leather  shoe.  He  faced  me  furi- 
ously at  not  getting  any  apology.  '  Sacre,'  he  ex- 
claimed, '  what  the '  But  before  he  could  finish 

I  moved  still  closer  and  pinched  his  elbow.  A  dull 
red  glow  of  suppressed  anger  spread  over  his  face, 
but  he  cut  his  words  short.  He  knew  and  I  knew 
he  knew.  That  is  the  sign  in  the  continental  hotels 
when  they  find  a  crook  and  quietly  ask  him  to  move 
on.  The  man  turned  on  his  heel  and  stalked  out 


264  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  the  hotel.  By  and  by  the  young  man  in  the  cafe, 
considerably  annoyed  at  the  sudden  inattention  of 
the  waiter  who  acted  as  if  he  wasn't  satisfied  with 
his  tip,  strolled  through  the  lobby  and  not  seeing 
his  dark-skinned  friend,  also  disappeared.  I  wish 
to  heaven  I  had  had  them  shadowed.  The  young 
fellow  wasn't  a  come-on  at  all.  There  was  some- 
thing afoot  between  these  two,  mark  my  words." 

"  But  why  do  you  connect  that  incident  with  this 
case  of  Madame  de  Nevers?"  asked  Kennedy,  a 
little  puzzled. 

"  Because  the  next  day,  and  the  day  that 
Madame's  maid  disappeared,  I  happened  to  see  a 
man  bidding  good-bye  to  a  woman  at  the  rear  car- 
riage entrance  of  the  hotel.  The  woman  was 
Madame's  maid  and  the  man  was  the  dark  man 
who  had  been  seated  in  the  cafe." 

"  You  said  a  moment  ago  that  you  had  a  good 
description  of  the  maid  or  could  write  one.  Do 
you  think  you  could  locate  her?  " 

The  hotel  detective  thought  a  minute  or  two. 
"  If  she  has  gone  to  any  of  the  other  hotels  in  this 
city,  I  could,"  he  answered  slowly.  "  You  know 
we  have  recently  formed  a  sort  of  clearing  house, 
we  hotel  detectives,  and  we  are  working  together 
now  very  well,  though  secretly.  It  is  barely  possible 
that  she  has  gone  to  another,  hotel.  The  very 
brazenness  of  that  would  be  its  safeguard,  she  might 
think." 

'  Then  I  can  leave  that  part  of  it  to  you, 
McBride?"  asked  Kennedy  thoughtfully  as  if  lay- 
ing out  a  programme  of  action  in  his  mind.  "  You 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  265 

will  set  the  hotel  detectives  on  the  trail  as  well  as 
the  police  of  the  city,  and  of  other  cities,  will  make 
the  inquiries  at  the  steamships  and  railroads,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing?  Try  to  find  some  trace  of 
the  two  men  whom  you  saw  in  the  cafe  at  the  same 
time.  But  for  the  present  I  should  say  spare  no 
effort  to  locate  that  girl." 

"  Trust  it  to  me,"  agreed  McBride  confidently. 

A  heavy  tap  sounded  at  the  door  and  McBride 
opened  it.  It  was  the  coroner. 

I  shall  not  go  into  the  lengthy  investigation  which 
the  coroner  conducted,  questioning  one  servant  and 
employee  after  another  without  eliciting  any  more 
real  information  than  we  had  already  obtained  so 
concisely  from  the  house  man.  The  coroner  was, 
of  course,  angry  at  the  removal  of  the  body  from 
the  closet  to  the  bed  because  he  wanted  to  view 
it  in  the  position  in  which  it  had  been  found,  but 
as  that  had  been  done  by  the  servants  before 
McBride  could  stop  them,  there  was  nothing  to  do 
about  it  but  accept  the  facts. 

"  A  very  peculiar  case,"  remarked  the  coroner  at 
the  conclusion  of  his  examination,  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  could  shed  much  light  on  it  from  his  wide 
experience  if  he  chose.  "  There  is  just  one  point 
that  we  shall  have  to  clear  up,  however.  What  was 
the  cause  of  the  death  of  the  deceased?  There  is 
no  gas  in  the  room.  It  couldn't  have  been  illumi- 
nating gas,  then.  No,  it  must  have  been  a  poison 
of  some  kind.  Then  as  to  the  motive,"  he  added, 
trying  to  look  confident  but  really  shooting  a  tenta- 
tive remark  at  Craig  and  the  house  detective,  who 


266  THE  POISONED  PEN 

said  nothing.  "  It  looks  a  good  deal  like  that  other 
suicide — at  least  a  suicide  which  some  one  has  en- 
deavoured to  conceal,"  he  added,  hastily  recollect- 
ing the  manner  in  which  the  body  had  been  found 
and  his  criticisms  of  the  removal  from  the  closet. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you?  "  rejoined  McBride  dolefully 
after  we  had  left  the  coroner  downstairs  a  few  min- 
utes later.  "  I  knew  he  would  think  the  hotel  was 
hiding  something  from  him." 

"  We  can't  help  what  he  thinks — yet,"  remarked 
Craig.  "  All  we  can  do  is  to  run  down  the  clues 
which  we  have.  I  will  leave  the  maid  to  be  found 
by  your  organisation,  McBride.  Let  me  see,  the 
theatres  and  roof  gardens  must  be  letting  out  by 
this  time.  I  will  see  if  I  can  get  any  information 
from  Miss  Lovelace.  Find  her  address,  Walter, 
and  call  a  cab." 

The  Southern  heiress,  who  had  attracted  more 
attention  by  her  beauty  than  by  her  fortune  which 
was  only  moderate  as  American  fortunes  go  now- 
adays, lived  in  an  apartment  facing  the  park,  with 
her  mother,  a  woman  whose  social  ambitions  it  was 
commonly  known  had  no  bounds  and  were  often 
sadly  imposed  upon. 

Fortunately  we  arrived  at  the  apartment  not  very 
many  minutes  after  the  mother  and  daughter,  and 
although  it  was  late,  Kennedy  sent  up  his  card  with 
an  urgent  message  to  see  them.  They  received  us 
in  a  large  drawing-room  and  were  plainly  annoyed 
by  our  visit,  though  that  of  course  was  susceptible 
of  a  natural  interpretation. 

;'  What  is  it  that  you  wished  to  see  me  about?  " 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  267 

began  Mrs.  Lovelace  in  a  tone  which  was  intended 
to  close  the  interview  almost  before  it  was  begun. 

Kennedy  had  not  wished  to  see  her  about  any- 
thing, but  of  course  he  did  not  even  hint  as  much 
in  his  reply  which  was  made  to  her  but  directed 
at  Miss  Lovelace. 

"  Could  you  tell  me  anything  about  a  Madame 
de  Nevers  who  was  staying  at  the  Vanderveer?" 
asked  Craig,  turning  quickly  to  the  daughter  so  as 
to  catch  the  full  effect  of  his  question,  and  then 
waiting  as  if  expecting  the  answer  from  her. 

The  young  lady's  face  blanched  slightly  and  she 
seemed  to  catch  her  breath  for  an  instant,  but  she 
kept  her  composure  admirably  in  spite  of  the  evident 
shock  of  Craig's  purposely  abrupt  question. 

"  I  have  heard  of  her,"  Miss  Lovelace  replied 
with  forced  calmness  as  he  continued  to  look  to  her 
for  an  answer.  "Why  do  you  ask?" 

"  Because  a  woman  who  is  supposed  to  be 
Madame  de  Nevers  has  committed  suicide  at  the 
Vanderveer  and  it  was  thought  that  perhaps  you 
could  identify  her." 

By  this  time  she  had  become  perfect  mistress  of 
herself  again,  from  which  I  argued  that  whatever 
knowledge  she  had  of  Madame  was  limited  to  the 
time  before  the  tragedy. 

I,   identify  her?     Why,   I   never  saw  her.     I 
simply  know  that  such  a  creature  exists." 

She  said  it  defiantly  and  with  an  iciness  which 
showed  more  plainly  than  in  mere  words  that  she 
scorned  even  an  acquaintance  with  a  demi-mondaine. 

"  Do  you  suppose  the  Due  de  Chateaurouge  would 


268  THE  POISONED  PEN 

be  able  to  identify  her?  "  asked  Kennedy  mercilessly. 
"  One  moment,  please,"  he  added,  anticipating  the 
blank  look  of  amazement  on  her  face.  "  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  the  duke  is  in  this  country 
incognito — is  he  not?  " 

Instead  of  speaking  she  merely  raised  her  shoul- 
ders a  fraction  of  an  inch. 

"  Either  in  New  York  or  in  Washington,"  pur- 
sued Kennedy. 

"Why  do  you  ask  me?"  she  said  at  length. 
"  Isn't  it  enough  that  some  of  the  newspapers  have 
said  so?  If  you  see  it  in  the  newspapers,  it's  so — 
perhaps — isn't  it?  " 

We  were  getting  nowhere  in  this  interview,  at 
least  so  I  thought.  Kennedy  cut  it  short,  especially 
as  he  noted  the  evident  restlessness  of  Mrs.  Love- 
lace. However,  he  had  gained  his  point.  Whether 
or  not  the  duke  was  in  New  York  or  Washington 
or  Spitzbergen,  he  now  felt  sure  that  Miss  Lovelace 
knew  of,  and  perhaps  something  about,  Madame  de 
Nevers.  In  some  way  the  dead  woman  had  com- 
municated with  her  and  Miss  Lovelace  had  been 
the  woman  whom  the  hotel  clerk  had  seen  at  the 
Vanderveer.  We  withdrew  as  gracefully  as  our 
awkward  position  permitted. 

As  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done  at  that 
late  hour,  Craig  decided  to  sleep  soundly  over  the 
case,  his  infallible  method  of  taking  a  fresh  start 
after  he  had  run  up  a  cul-de-sac. 

Imagine  our  surprise  in  the  morning  at  being 
waited  on  by  the  coroner  himself,  who  in  a  few 
words  explained  that  he  was  far  from  satisfied  with 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  269 

the  progress  his  own  office  was  making  with  the 
case. 

*  You  understand,"  he  concluded  after  a  lengthy 
statement  of  confession  and  avoidance,  "  we  have 
no  very  good  laboratory  facilities  of  our  own  to 
carry  out  the  necessary  chemical,  pathological,  and 
bacteriological  investigations  in  cases  of  homicide 
and  suicide.  We  are  often  forced  to  resort  to 
private  laboratories,  as  you  know  in  the  past  when 
I  have  had  to  appeal  to  you.  Now,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy, if  we  might  turn  over  that  research  part  of 
the  case  to  you,  sir,  I  will  engage  to  see  that  a  reason- 
able bill  for  your  professional  services  goes  through 
the  office  of  my  friend  the  city  comptroller 
promptly." 

Craig  snapped  at  the  opportunity,  though  he  did 
not  allow  the  coroner  to  gain  that  impression. 

"  Very  well,"  agreed  that  official,  "  I  shall  see 
that  all  the  necessary  organs  for  a  thorough  test  as 
to  the  cause  of  the  death  of  this  woman  are  sent 
up  to  the  Chemistry  Building  right  away." 

The  coroner  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  we 
had  scarcely  breakfasted  and  arrived  at  Craig's  sci- 
entific workshop  before  that  official  appeared,  ac- 
companied by  a  man  who  carried  in  uncanny  jars 
the  necessary  materials  for  an  investigation  follow- 
ing an  autopsy. 

Kennedy  was  now  in  his  element.  The  case  had 
taken  an  unexpected  turn  which  made  him  a  leading 
factor  in  its  solution.  Whatever  suspicions  he  may 
have  entertained  unofficially  the  night  before  he 
could  now  openly  and  quickly  verify. 


270  THE  POISONED  PEN 

He  took  a  little  piece  of  lung  tissue  and  with  a 
sharp  sterilised  knife  cut  it  up.  Then  he  made  it 
slightly  alkaline  with  a  little  sodium  carbonate,  talk- 
ing half  to  us  and  half  to  himself  as  he  worked. 
The  next  step  was  to  place  the  matter  in  a  glass 
flask  in  a  water  bath  where  it  was  heated.  From 
the  flask  a  Bohemian  glass  tube  led  into  a  cool  jar 
and  on  a  part  of  the  tube  a  flame  was  playing  which 
heated  it  to  redness  for  two  or  three  inches. 

Several  minutes  we  waited  in  silence.  Finally 
when  the  process  had  gone  far  enough,  Kennedy 
took  a  piece  of  paper  which  had  been  treated  with 
iodised  starch,  as  he  later  explained.  He  plunged 
the  paper  into  the  cool  jar.  Slowly  it  turned  a 
strong  blue  tint. 

Craig  said  nothing,  but  it  was  evident  that  he 
was  more  than  gratified  by  what  had  happened. 
He  quickly  reached  for  a  bottle  on  the  shelves  be- 
fore him,  and  I  could  see  from  the  label  on  the 
brown  glass  that  it  was  nitrate  of  silver.  As  he 
plunged  a  little  in  a  test-tube  into  the  jar  a  strong 
precipitate  was  gradually  formed. 

u  It  is  the  decided  reaction  for  chloroform,"  he 
exclaimed  simply  in  reply  to  our  unspoken  ques- 
tions. 

11  Chloroform,"  repeated  the  coroner,  rather 
doubtfully,  and  it  was  evident  that  he  had  expected 
a  poison  and  had  not  anticipated  any  result  what- 
ever from  an  examination  of  the  lungs  instead  of 
the  stomach  to  which  he  had  confined  his  own  work 
so  far.  "  Could  chloroform  be  discovered  in  the 
lungs  or  viscera  after  so  many  days?  There  was 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  271 

one  famous  chloroform  case  for  which  a  man  is 
now  serving  a  life  term  in  Sing  Sing  which  I  have 
understood  there  was  grave  doubt  in  the  minds  of 
the  experts.  Mind,  I  am  not  trying  to  question 
the  results  of  your  work  except  as  they  might  natu- 
rally be  questioned  in  court.  It  seems  to  me  that 
the  volatility  of  chloroform  might  very  possibly  pre- 
clude its  discovery  after  a  short  time.  Then  again, 
might  not  other  substances  be  generated  in  a  dead 
body  which  would  give  a  reaction  very  much  like 
chloroform?  We  must  consider  all  these  questions 
before  we  abandon  the  poison  theory,  sir.  Remem- 
ber, this  is  the  summer  time  too,  and  chloroform 
would  evaporate  very  much  more  rapidly  now  than 
in  winter." 

Kennedy  smiled,  but  his  confidence  remained  un- 
shaken. 

"  I  am  in  a  position  to  meet  all  of  your  objec- 
tions," he  explained  simply.  "  I  think  I  could  lay 
it  down  as  a  rule  that  by  proper  methods  chloroform 
may  be  discovered  in  the  viscera  much  longer  after 
death  than  is  commonly  supposed — in  summer  from 
six  days  to  three  weeks,  with  a  practical  working 
range  of  say  twelve  days,  while  in  winter  it  may 
be  found  even  after  several  months — by  the  right 
method.  Certainly  this  case  comes  within  the  aver- 
age length  of  time.  More  than  that,  no  substance 
is  generated  by  the  process  of  decomposition  which 
will  vitiate  the  test  for  chloroform  which  I  have  just 
made.  Chloroform  has  an  affinity  for  water  and 
is  also  a  preservative,  and  hence  from  all  these  facts 
I  think  it  safe  to  conclude  that  sometimes  traces 


272  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  it  may  be  found  for  two  weeks  after  its  admin- 
istration, certainly  for  a  few  days." 

"  And  Madame  de  Nevers?  "  queried  the  coroner, 
as  if  the  turn  of  events  was  necessitating  a  complete 
reconstruction  of  his  theory  of  the  case. 

"  Was  murdered,"  completed  Kennedy  in  a 
tone  that  left  nothing  more  to  be  said  on  the  sub- 
ject. 

"  But,"  persisted  the  coroner,  "  if  she  was  mur- 
dered by  the  use  of  chloroform,  how  do  you  account 
for  the  fact  that  it  was  done  without  a  struggle? 
There  were  no  marks  of  violence  and  I,  for  one, 
do  not  believe  that  under  ordinary  circumstances 
any  one  will  passively  submit  to  such  an  adminis- 
tration without  a  hard  fight." 

From  his  pocket  Kennedy  drew  a  small  paste- 
board box  filled  with  tiny  globes,  some  bonbons  and 
lozenges,  a  small  hypodermic  syringe,  and  a  few 
cigars  and  cigarettes.  He  held  it  out  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand  so  that  we  could  see  it. 

"  This,"  he  remarked,  "  is  the  standard  equip- 
ment of  the  endormeur.  Whoever  obtained  admit- 
tance to  Madame's  rooms,  either  as  a  matter  of 
course  or  secretly,  must  have  engaged  her  in  con- 
versation, disarmed  suspicion,  and  then  suddenly  she 
must  have  found  a  pocket  handkerchief  under  her 
nose.  The  criminal  crushed  a  globe  of  liquid  in 
the  handkerchief,  the  victim  lost  consciousness,  the 
chloroform  was  administered  without  a  struggle,  all 
marks  of  identification  were  obliterated,  the  body 
was  placed  in  the  closet,  and  the  maid — either  as 
principal  or  accessory — took  the  most  likely  means 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  273 

of  postponing  discovery  by  paying  the  bill  in  ad- 
vance at  the  office,  and  then  disappeared." 

Kennedy  slipped  the  box  back  into  his  pocket. 
The  coroner  had,  I  think,  been  expecting  Craig's 
verdict,  although  he  was  loath  to  abandon  his  own 
suicide  theory  and  had  held  it  to  the  last  possible 
moment.  At  any  rate,  so  far  he  had  said  little, 
apparently  preferring  to  keep  his  own  counsel  as 
to  his  course  of  action  and  to  set  his  own  machinery 
in  motion. 

He  drew  a  note  from  his  pocket,  however.  "  I 
suppose,"  he  began  tentatively,  shaking  the  note  as 
he  glanced  doubtfully  from  it  to  us,  "  that  you  have 
heard  that  among  the  callers  on  this  unfortunate 
woman  was  a  lady  of  high  social  position  in  this 
city?" 

"  I  have  heard  a  rumour  to  that  effect,"  replied 
Kennedy  as  he  busied  himself  cleaning  up  the  appa- 
ratus he  had  just  used.  There  was  nothing  in  his 
manner  even  to  hint  at  the  fact  that  we  had  gone 
further  and  interviewed  the  young  lady  in  question. 

1  Well,"  resumed  the  coroner,  "  in  view  of  what 
you  have  just  discovered  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
that  I  believe  it  was  more  than  a  rumour.  I  have 
had  a  man  watching  the  woman  and  this  is  a  report 
I  received  just  before  I  came  up  here." 

We  read  the  note  which  he  now  handed  to  us.  It 
was  just  a  hasty  line:  "  Miss  Lovelace  left  hurriedly 
for  Washington  this  morning." 

What  was  the  meaning  of  it?  Clearly,  as  we 
probed  deeper  into  the  case,  its  ramifications  grew 
wider  than  anything  we  had  yet  expected.  Why  had 


274  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Miss  Lovelace  gone  to  Washington,  of  all  places, 
at  this  torrid  season  of  the  year? 

The  coroner  had  scarcely  left  us,  more  mystified 
than  ever,  when  a  telephone  message  came  from 
McBride  saying  that  he  had  some  important  news 
for  us  if  we  would  meet  him  at  the  St.  Cenis  Hotel 
within  an  hour.  He  would  say  nothing  about  it 
over  the  wire. 

As  Kennedy  hung  up  the  receiver  he  quietly  took 
a  pistol  from  a  drawer  of  his  desk,  broke  it  quickly, 
and  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  cartridges  in  the  cyl- 
inder. Then  he  snapped  it  shut  and  stuck  it  into 
his  pocket. 

'  There's  no  telling  what  we  may  run  up  against 
before  we  get  back  to  the  laboratory,"  he  remarked 
and  we  rode  down  to  meet  McBride. 

The  description  which  the  house  man  had  sent 
out  to  the  other  hotel  detectives  the  night  before 
had  already  produced  a  result.  Within  the  past 
two  days  a  man  answering  the  description  of  the 
younger  man  whom  McBride  had  seen  in  the  cafe 
and  a  woman  who  might  very  possibly  have  been 
Madame's  maid  had  come  to  the  St.  Cenis  as  M. 
and  Mme.  Duval.  Their  baggage  was  light,  but 
they  had  been  at  pains  to  impress  upon  the  hotel 
that  they  were  persons  of  some  position  and  that 
it  was  going  direct  from  the  railroad  to  the  steamer, 
after  their  tour  of  America.  They  had,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  done  nothing  to  excite  suspicion  until  the 
general  request  for  information  had  been  received. 

The  house  man  of  the  St.  Cenis  welcomed  us 
cordially  upon  McBride's  introduction  and  agreed 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  275 

to  take  us  up  to  the  rooms  of  the  strange  couple 
if  they  were  not  in.  As  it  happened  it  was  the 
lunch  hour  and  they  were  not  in  the  room.  Still, 
Kennedy  dared  not  be  too  particular  in  his  search 
of  their  effects,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  arouse  sus- 
picion upon  their  return,  at  least  not  yet. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Craig,"  I  suggested  after  we 
had  nosed  about  for  a  few  minutes,  finding  nothing, 
*'  that  this  is  pre-eminently  a  case  in  which  to  use 
the  dictograph  as  you  did  in  that  Black  Hand  case." 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  although  I  could 
see  that  the  idea  appealed  to  him.  '  The  dicto- 
graph has  been  getting  too  much  publicity  lately," 
he  said.  "  I'm  afraid  they  would  discover  it,  that 
is,  if  they  are  at  all  the  clever  people  I  think  them. 
Besides,  I  would  have  to  send  up  to  the  laboratory 
to  get  one  and  by  the  time  the  messenger  returned 
they  might  be  back  from  lunch.  No,  we've  got 
to  do  something  else,  and  do  it  quickly." 

He  was  looking  about  the  room  in  an  apparently 
aimless  manner.  On  the  side  wall  hung  a  cheap 
etching  of  a  woodland  scene.  Kennedy  seemed  en- 
grossed in  it  while  the  rest  of  us  fidgeted  at  the 
delay. 

"  Can  you  get  me  a  couple  of  old  telephone  in- 
struments? "  he  asked  at  length,  turning  to  us  and 
addressing  the  St.  Cenis  detective. 

The  detective  nodded  and  disappeared  down  the 
hall.  A  few  minutes  later  he  deposited  the  instru- 
ments on  a  table.  Where  he  got  them  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  suspect  he  simply  lifted  them  from 
vacant  rooms. 


276  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Now  some  Number  30  copper  wire  and  a  couple 
of  dry  cells,"  ordered  Kennedy,  falling  to  work 
immediately  on  the  telephones.  The  detective  de- 
spatched a  bellboy  down  to  the  basement  to  get  the 
wire  from  the  house  electrician. 

Kennedy  removed  the  transmitters  of  the  tele- 
phones, and  taking  the  carbon  capsules  from  them 
placed  the  capsules  on  the  table  carefully.  Then 
he  lifted  down  the  etching  from  the  wall  and  laid 
it  flat  on  its  face  before  us.  Quickly  he  removed 
the  back  of  the  picture. 

Pressing  the  transmitter  fronts  with  the  carbon 
capsules  against  the  paper  and  the  glass  on  the 
picture  he  mounted  them  so  that  the  paper  and  glass 
acted  as  a  large  diaphragm  to  collect  all  the  sounds 
in  the  room. 

"  The  size  of  this  glass  diaphragm,"  he  explained 
as  we  gathered  around  in  intense  interest  at  what 
he  was  doing,  "  will  produce  a  strikingly  sensitive 
microphone  action  and  the  merest  whisper  will  be 
reproduced  with  startling  distinctness." 

The  boy  brought  the  wire  up  and  also  the  news 
that  the  couple  in  whose  room  we  were  had  very 
nearly  finished  luncheon  and  might  be  expected  back 
in  a  few  minutes. 

Kennedy  took  the  tiny  wires,  and  after  connect- 
ing them  hung  up  the  picture  again  and  ran  them 
up  alongside  the  picture  wires  leading  from  the 
huge  transmitter  up  to  the  picture  moulding.  Along 
the  top  of  the  moulding  and  out  through  the  tran- 
som it  was  easy  enough  to  run  the  wires  and  so 
down  the  hall  to  a  vacant  room,  where  Craig  at- 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  277 

tached  them  quickly  to  one  of  the  old  telephone 
receivers. 

Then  we  sat  down  in  this  room  to  await  develop- 
ments from  our  hastily  improvised  picture  frame 
microphone  detective. 

At  last  we  could  hear  the  elevator  door  close 
on  our  floor.  A  moment  later  it  was  evident  from 
the  expression  of  Kennedy's  face  that  some  one  had 
entered  the  room  which  we  had  just  left.  He  had 
finished  not  a  moment  too  soon. 

"  It's  a  good  thing  that  I  didn't  wait  to  put  a 
dictograph  there,"  he  remarked  to  us.  "  I  thought 
I  wasn't  reckoning  without  reason.  The  couple, 
whoever  they  are,  are  talking  in  undertones  and 
looking  about  the  room  to  see  if  anything  has  been 
disturbed  in  their  absence." 

Kennedy  alone,  of  course,  could  follow  over  his 
end  of  the  telephone  what  they  said.  The  rest  of 
us  could  do  nothing  but  wait,  but  from  notes  which 
Craig  jotted  down  as  he  listened  to  the  conversation 
I  shall  reproduce  it  as  if  we  had  all  heard  it.  There 
were  some  anxious  moments  until  at  last  they  had 
satisfied  themselves  that  no  one  was  listening  and 
that  no  dictograph  or  other  mechanical  eavesdrop- 
per, such  as  they  had  heard  of,  was  concealed  in 
the  furniture  or  back  of  it. 

"  Why  are  you  so  particular,  Henri?  "  a  woman's 
voice  was  saying. 

"  Louise,  I've  been  thinking  for  a  long  time  that 
we  are  surrounded  by  spies  in  these  hotels.  You 
remember  I  told  you  what  happened  at  the  Vander- 
veer  the  night  you  and  Madame  arrived?  I'm  sure 


278  THE  POISONED  PEN 

that  waiter  overheard  what  Gonzales  and  I  were 
talking  about." 

"  Well,  we  are  safe  now  anyhow.  What  was  it 
that  you  would  not  tell  me  just  now  at  luncheon?  " 
asked  the  woman,  whom  Kennedy  recognised  as 
Madame  de  Nevers's  maid. 

"  I  have  a  cipher  from  Washington.  Wait  until 
I  translate  it." 

There  was  a  pause.  "  What  does  it  say?  "  asked 
the  woman  impatiently. 

"  It  says,"  repeated  the  man  slowly,  "  that  Miss 
Lovelace  has  gone  to  Washington.  She  insists  on 
knowing  whether  the  death  of  Marie  was  a  suicide 
or  not.  Worse  than  that  the  Secret  Service  must 
have  wind  of  some  part  of  our  scheme,  for  they 
are  acting  suspiciously.  I  must  go  down  there  or 
the  whole  affair  may  be  exposed  and  fall  through. 
Things  could  hardly  be  worse,  especially  this  sudden 
move  on  her  part." 

'  Who  was  that  detective  who  forced  his  way  to 
see  her  the  night  they  discovered  Marie's  body?" 
asked  the  woman.  "  I  hope  that  that  wasn't  the 
Secret  Service  also.  Do  you  think  they  could  have 
suspected  anything?  " 

"  I  hardly  think  so,"  the  man  replied.  "  Beyond 
the  death  of  Madame  they  suspect  nothing  here  in 
New  York,  I  am  convinced.  You  are  sure  that  all 
her  letters  were  secured,  that  all  clues  to  connect 
her  with  the  business  in  hand  were  destroyed,  and 
particularly  that  the  package  she  was  to  deliver  is 
safe?" 

"The  package?     You  mean  t;he  plans  for  the 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  279 

coaling  station  on  the  Pacific  near  the  Canal?     You 
see,  Henri,  I  know." 

"  Ha,    ha, — yes,"    replied    the    man.     ll  Louise, 
shall  I  tell  you  a  secret?     Can  you  keep  it?  " 

"  You  know  I  can,  Henri." 

"Well,  Louise,  the  scheme  is  deeper  than  even 
you  think.     We  are  playing  one  country  against  an- 
other, America  against — you  know  the  government 
our  friend  Schmidt  works  for  in  Paris.     Now,  listen. 
Those  plans  of  the  coaling  station  are  a  fake—a 
fake.     It  is  just  a  commercial  venture.     No  nation 
would  be  foolish  enough  to  attempt  slich  a  thing, 
yet.     We  know  that  they  are  a  fake.     But  we  are 
going  to  sell  them  through  that  friend  of  ours  in 
the  United  States  War  Department.     But  that  is 
only  part  of  the  coup,  the  part  that  will  give  us  the 
money  to  turn  the  much  larger  coups  we  have  in 
the  future.     You  can  understand  why  it  has  all  to 
be  done  so  secretly  and  how  vexatious  it  is  that  as 
soon  as  one  obstacle  is  overcome  a  dozen  new  ones 
appear.     Louise,  here  is  the  big  secret.     By  using 
those  fake  plans  as  a  bait  we  are  going  to  obtain 
something  which  when  we  all  return  to  Paris  we 
can  convert  into  thousands  of  francs.     There,  I  can 
say  no  more.     But  I  have  told  you  so  much  to 
impress  upon  you  the  extreme  need  of  caution." 
"  And  how  much  does  Miss  Lovelace  know?  " 
"Very  little — I  hope.     That  is  why  I  must  go 
to  Washington  myself.     She  must  know  nothing  of 
this  coup  nor  of  the  real  de  Nevers,  or  the  whole 
scheme  may  fall  through.     It  would  have   fallen 
through  before,  Louise,  if  you  had  failed  us  and 


28o  THE  POISONED  PEN 

had  let  any  of  de  Nevers's  letters  slip  through  to 
Miss  Lovelace.  She  richly  deserved  her  fate  for 
that  act  of  treachery.  The  affair  would  have  been 
so  simple,  otherwise.  Luck  was  with  us  until  her 
insane  jealousy  led  her  to  visit  Miss  Lovelace.  It 
was  fortunate  the  young  lady  was  out  when  Madame 
called  on  her  or  all  would  have  been  lost.  Ah, 
we  owe  you  a  great  deal,  Louise,  and  we  shall  not 
forget  it,  never.  You  will  be  very  careful  while  I 
am  gone?  " 

"  Absolutely.  When  will  you  return  to  me, 
Henri?" 

"  To-morrow  morning  at  the  latest.  This  after- 
noon the  false  coaling  station  plans  are  to  be  turned 
over  to  our  accomplice  in  the  War  Department  and 
in  exchange  he  is  to  give  us  something  else — the 
secret  of  which  I  spoke.  You  see  the  trail  leads 
up  into  high  circles.  It  is  very  much  more  im- 
portant than  you  suppose  and  discovery  might  lead 
to  a  dangerous  international  complication  just  now." 

"  Then  you  are  to  meet  your  friend  in  Washing- 
ton to-night?  When  do  you  start,  Henri?  Don't 
let  the  time  slip  by.  There  must  be  no  mistake  this 
time  as  there  was  when  we  were  working  for  Japan 
and  almost  had  the  blue  prints  of  Corregidor  at 
Manila  only  to  lose  them  on  the  streets  of  Calcutta." 

'  Trust  me.  We  are  to  meet  about  nine  o'clock 
and  therefore  I  leave  on  the  limited  at  three-thirty, 
in  about  an  hour.  From  the  station  I  am  going 
straight  to  the  house  on  Z  Street — let  me  see,  the 
cipher  says  the  number  is  101 — and  ask  for  a  man 
named  Gonzales.  I  shall  use  the  name  Montez. 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  281 

He  is  to  appear,  hand  over  the  package — that  thing 
I  have  told  you  about — then  I  am  to  return  here 
by  one  of  the  midnight  trains.  At  any  cost  we 
must  allow  nothing  to  happen  which  will  reach  the 
ears  of  Miss  Lovelace.  I'll  see  you  early  to- 
morrow morning,  ma  cherie,  and  remember,  be 
ready,  for  the  Aquitania  sails  at  ten.  The  division 
of  the  money  is  to  be  made  in  Paris.  Then  we 
shall  all  go  our  separate  ways." 

Kennedy  was  telephoning  frantically  through  the 
regular  hotel  service  to  find  out  how  the  trains  ran 
for  Washington.  The  only  one  that  would  get 
there  before  nine  was  the  three-thirty;  the  next, 
leaving  an  hour  later,  did  not  arrive  until  nearly 
eleven.  He  had  evidently  had  some  idea  of  causing 
some  delay  that  would  result  in  our  friend  down 
the  hall  missing  the  limited,  but  abandoned  it.  Any 
such  scheme  would  simply  result  in  a  message  to  the 
gang  in  Washington  putting  them  on  their  guard  and 
defeating  his  purpose. 

"  At  all  costs  we  must  beat  this  fellow  to  it,"  ex- 
claimed Craig,  waiting  to  hear  no  more  over  his 
improvised  dictograph.  "  Come,  Walter,  we  must 
catch  the  limited  for  Washington  immediately. 
McBride,  I  leave  you  and  the  regular  house  man 
to  shadow  this  woman.  Don't  let  her  get  out  of 
your  sight  for  a  moment." 

As  we  rode  across  the  city  to  the  new  railroad 
terminus  Craig  hastily  informed  me  of  what  he  had 
overheard.  We  took  up  our  post  so  that  we  could 
see  the  outgoing  travellers,  and  a  few  minutes  later 
Craig  spotted  our  man  from  McBride's  description, 


282  THE  POISONED  PEN 

and  succeeded  in  securing  chairs  in  the  same  car 
in  which  he  was  to  ride. 

Taken  altogether  it  was  an  uneventful  journey. 
For  five  mortal  hours  we  sat  in  the  Pullman  or 
toyed  with  food  in  the  dining-car,  never  letting  the 
man  escape  our  sight,  yet  never  letting  him  know 
that  we  were  watching  him.  Nevertheless  I  could 
not  help  asking  myself  what  good  it  did.  Why  did 
not  Kennedy  hire  a  special  if  the  affair  was  so 
important  as  it  appeared?  How  were  we  to  get 
ahead  of  him  in  Washington  better  than  in  New 
York?  I  knew  that  some  plan  lurked  behind  the 
calm  and  inscrutable  face  of  Kennedy  as  I  tried  to 
read  and  could  not. 

The  train  had  come  to  a  stop  in  the  Union 
Station.  Our  man  was  walking  rapidly  up  the  plat- 
form in  the  direction  of  the  cab  stand.  Suddenly 
Kennedy  darted  ahead  and  for  a  moment  we  were 
walking  abreast  of  him. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  began  Craig  as  we  came 
to  a  turn  in  the  shadow  of  the  arc  lights,  "  but  have 
you  a  match?  " 

The  man  halted  and  fumbled  for  his  match-box. 
Instantly  Kennedy's  pocket  handkerchief  was  at  his 
nose. 

"  Some  of  the  medicine  of  your  own  gang  of 
endormeurs,"  ground  out  Kennedy,  crushing  several 
of  the  little  glass  globes  under  his  handkerchief  to 
make  doubly  sure  of  their  effect. 

The  man  reeled  and  would  have  fallen  if  we  had 
not  caught  him  between  us.  Up  the  platform  we 
led  him  in  a  daze. 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  283 

"  Here,"  shouted  Craig  to  a  cabman,  "  my  friend 
is  ill.  Drive  U9  around  a  bit.  It  will  sober  him 
up.  Come  on,  Walter,  jump  in,  the  air  will  do  us 
all  good." 

Those  who  were  in  Washington  during  that  sum- 
mer will  remember  the  suppressed  activity  in  the 
State,  War,  and  Navy  Departments  on  a  certain 
very  humid  night.  Nothing  leaked  out  at  the  time 
as  to  the  cause,  but  it  was  understoodj  later  that  a 
crisis  was  narrowly  averted  at  a  very  inopportune 
season,  for  the  heads  of  the  departments  were  all 
away,  the  President  was  at  his  summer  home  in  the 
North,  and  even  some  of  the  under-secretaries  were 
out  of  town.  Hasty  messages  had  been  sizzling 
over  the  wires  in  cipher  and  code  for  hours. 

I  recall  that  as  we  rode  a  little  out  of  our  way 
past  the  Army  Building,  merely  to  see  if  there  was 
any  excitement,  we  found  it  a  blaze  of  lights.  Some- 
thing was  plainly  afoot  even  at  this  usually  dull 
period  of  the  year.  There  was  treachery  of  some 
kind  and  some  trusted  employee  was  involved,  I  felt 
instinctively.  As  for  Craig  he  merely  glanced  at 
the  insensible  figure  between  us  and  remarked  sen- 
tentiously  that  to  his  knowledge  there  was  only  one 
nation  that  made  a  practice  of  carrying  out  its 
diplomatic  and  other  coups  in  the  hot  weather,  a 
remark  which  I  understood  to  mean  that  our  mission 
was  more  than  commonly  important. 

The  man  had  not  recovered  when  we  arrived 
within  several  blocks  of  our  destination,  nor  did  he 
show  signs  of  recovery  from  his  profound  stupor. 
Kennedy  stopped  the  cab  in  a  side  street,  pressed 


284  THE  POISONED  PEN 

a  bill  into  the  cabman's  hand,  and  bade  him  wail 
until  we  returned. 

We  had  turned  the  corner  of  Z  Street  and  were 
approaching  the  house  when  a  man  walking  in  the 
opposite  direction  eyed  us  suspiciously,  turned,  and 
followed  us  a  step  or  two. 

"  Kennedy !  "  he  exclaimed. 

If  a  fourteen-inch  gun  had  exploded  behind  us  I 
could  not  have  been  more  startled.  Here,  in  spite 
of  all  our  haste  and  secrecy  we  were  followed, 
watched,  and  beaten. 

Craig  wheeled  about  suddenly.  Then  he  took 
the  man  by  the  arm.  "  Come,"  he  said  quickly, 
and  we  three  dove  into  the  shadow  of  an  alley. 

As  we  paused,  Kennedy  was  the  first  to  speak. 
44  By  Jove,  Walter,  it's  Burke  of  the  Secret  Service," 
he  exclaimed. 

44  Good,"  repeated  the  man  with  some  satisfac- 
tion. "  I  see  that  you  still  have  that  memory  for 
faces."  He  was  evidently  referring  to  our  experi- 
ences together  some  months  before  with  the  portrait 
parle  and  identification  in  the  counterfeiting  case 
which  Craig  cleared  up  for  him. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Burke  and  Kennedy  spoke 
in  whispers.  Under  the  dim  light  from  the  street 
I  could  see  Kennedy's  face  intent  and  working  with 
excitement. 

4'  No  wonder  the  War  Department  is  a  blaze  of 
lights,"  he  exclaimed  as  we  moved  out  of  the  shadow 
again,  leaving  the  Secret  Service  man.  "  Burke,  I 
had  no  idea  when  I  took  up  this  case  that  I  should 
be  doing  my  country  a  service  also.  We  must  sue- 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  285 

ceed  at  any  hazard.  The  moment  you  hear  a  pistol 
shot,  Burke,  we  shall  need  you.  Force  the  door 
if  it  is  not  already  open.  You  were  right  as  to  the 
street  but  not  the  number.  It  is  that  house  over 
there.  Come  on,  Walter." 

We  mounted  the  low  steps  of  the  house  and  a 
negress  answered  the  bell.  "  Is  Mr.  Gonzales  in?  " 
asked  Kennedy. 

The  hallway  into  which  we  were  admitted  was 
dark  but  it  opened  into  a  sitting-room,  where  a  dim 
light  was  burning  behind  the  thick  portieres.  With- 
out a  word  the  negress  ushered  us  into  this  room, 
which  was  otherwise  empty. 

"Tell  him  Mr.  Montez  is  here,"  added  Craig 
as  we  sat  down. 

The  negress  disappeared  upstairs,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  returned  with  the  message  that  he  would 
be  down  directly. 

No  sooner  had  the  shuffle  of  her  footsteps  died 
away  than  Kennedy  was  on  his  feet,  listening  in- 
tently at  the  door.  There  was  no  sound.  He  took 
a  chair  and  tiptoed  out  into  the  dark  hall  with  it. 
Turning  it  upside  down  he  placed  it  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs  with  the  four  legs  pointing  obliquely 
up.  Then  he  drew  me  into  a  corner  with  him. 

How  long  we  waited  I  cannot  say.  The  next  I 
knew  was  a  muffled  step  on  the  landing  above,  then 
the  tread  on  the  stairs. 

A  crash  and  a  deep  volley  of  oaths  in  French 
followed  as  the  man  pitched  headlong  over  the  chair 
on  the  dark  steps. 

Kennedy  whipped  out  his  revolver  and  fired  point- 


286  THE  POISONED  PEN 

blank  at  the  prostrate  figure.  I  do  not  know  what 
the  ethics  are  of  firing  on  a  man  when  he  is  down, 
nor  did  I  have  time  to  stop  to  think. 

Craig  grasped  my  arm  and  pulled  me  toward  the 
door.  A  sickening  odour  seemed  to  pervade  the 
air.  Upstairs  there  was  shouting  and  banging  of 
doors. 

"  Closer,  Walter,"  he  muttered,  "  closer  to  the 
door,  and  open  it  a  little,  or  we  shall  both  be  suffo- 
cated. It  was  the  Secret  Service  gun  I  shot  off — 
the  pistol  that  shoots  stupefying  gas  from  its  vapour- 
filled  cartridges  and  enables  you  to  put  a  criminal 
out  of  commission  without  killing  him.  A  pull  of 
the  trigger,  the  cap  explodes,  the  gunpowder  and 
the  force  of  the  explosion  unite  some  capsicum  and 
lycopodium,  producing  the  blinding,  suffocating 
vapour  whose  terrible  effect  you  see.  Here,  you 
upstairs,"  he  shouted,  "  advance  an  inch  or  so  much 
as  show  your  heads  over  the  rail  and  I  pump  a  shot 
at  you,  too.  Walter,  take  the  gun  yourself.  Fire 
at  a  move  from  them.  I  think  the  gases  have 
cleared  away  enough  now.  I  must  get  him  before 
he  recovers  consciousness." 

A  tap  at  the  door  came,  and  without  taking  my 
eyes  off  the  stairs  I  opened  it.  Burke  slid  in  and 
gulped  at  the  nauseous  atmosphere. 

"What's  up?"  he  gasped.  "I  heard  a  shot. 
Where's  Kennedy?" 

I  motioned  in  the  darkness.  Kennedy's  electric 
bull's-eye  flashed  up  at  that  instant  and  we  saw 
him  deftly  slip  a  bright  pair  of  manacles  on  the 
wrists  of  the  man  on  the  floor,  who  was  breathing 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  287 

heavily,  while  blood  flowed  from  a  few  slight  cuts 
due  to  his  fall. 

Dexterously  as  a  pickpocket  Craig  reached  into 
the  man's  coat,  pulled  out  a  packet  of  papers,  and 
gazed  eagerly  at  one  after  another.  From  among 
them  he  unfolded  one  written  in  French  to  Madame 
Marie  de  Nevers  some  weeks  before.  I  translate: 

DEAR  MARIE:  Herr  Schmidt  informs  me  that  his  agent 
in  the  War  Department  at  Washington,  U.  S.  A.,  has  se- 
cured some  important  information  which  will  interest  the 
Government  for  which  Herr  Schmidt  is  the  agent— of 
course  you  know  who  that  is. 

It  is  necessary  that  you  should  carry  the  packet  which 
will  be  handed  to  you  (if  you  agree  to  my  proposal)  to 
New  York  by  the  steamer  Tripolitania.  Go  to  the  Van- 
deveer  Hotel  and  in  a  few  days,  as  soon  as  a  certain  ex- 
change can  be  made,  either  our  friend  in  Washington  or 
myself  will  call  on  you,  using  the  name  Gonzales.  In 
return  for  the  package  which  you  carry  he  will  hand  you 
another.  Lose  no  time  in  bringing  the  second  package  back 
to  Paris. 

I  have  arranged  that  you  will  receive  ten  thousand  francs 
and  your  expenses  for  your  services  in  this  matter.  Under 
no  conditions  betray  your  connection  with  Herr  Schmidt. 
I  was  to  have  carried  the  packet  to  America  myself  and 
make  the  exchange  but  knowing  your  need  of  money  I  have 
secured  the  work  for  you.  You  had  better  take  your  maid, 
as  it  is  much  better  to  travel  with  distinction  in  this  case. 
If,  however,  you  accept  this  commission  I  shall  consider  you 
in  honour  bound  to  surrender  your  claim  upon  my  name 
for  which  I  agree  to  pay  you  fifty  thousand  francs  upon 
my  marriage  with  the  American  heiress  of  whom  you  know. 
Please  let  me  know  immediately  through  our  mutual  friend 
Henri  Duval  whether  this  proposal  is  satisfactory.  Henri 
will  tell  you  that  fifty  thousand  is  my  ultimatum. 

CHATEAUROUGE. 


288  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  The  scoundrel,"  ground  out  Kennedy.  "  He 
lured  his  wife  from  Paris  to  New  York,  thinking 
the  Paris  police  too  acute  for  him,  I  suppose.  Then 
by  means  of  the  treachery  of  the  maid  Louise  and 
his  friend  Duval,  a  crook  who  would  even  descend 
to  play  the  part  of  valet  for  him  and  fall  in  love 
with  the  maid,  he  has  succeeded  in  removing  the 
woman  who  stood  between  him  and  an  American 
fortune." 

"  Marie,"  rambled  Chateaurouge  as  he  came 
blinking,  sneezing,  and  choking  out  of  his  stupor, 
"  Marie,  you  are  clever,  but  not  too  clever  for  me. 
This  blackmailing  must  stop.  Miss  Lovelace  knows 
something,  thanks  to  you,  but  she  shall  never  know 
all — never — never.  You — you — ugh ! — Stop.  Do 
you  think  you  can  hold  me  back  now  with  those 
little  white  hands  on  my  wrists?  I  wrench  them 
loose — so — and — ugh! — What's  this?  Where  am 
I?" 

The  man  gazed  dazedly  at  the  manacles  that 
held  his  wrists  instead  of  the  delicate  hands  he 
had  been  dreaming  of  as  he  lived  over  the  terrible 
scene  of  his  struggle  with  the  woman  who  was  his 
wife  in  the  Vanderveer. 

"  Chateaurouge,"  almost  hissed  Kennedy  in  his 
righteous  wrath,  "  fake  nobleman,  real  swindler  of 
five  continents.  Marie  de  Nevers  alive  stood  in 
the  way  of  your  marriage  to  the  heiress  Miss  Love- 
lace. Dead,  she  prevents  it  absolutely." 

Craig  continued  to  turn  over  the  papers  in  his 
hand,  as  he  spoke.  At  last  he  came  to  a  smaller 
packet  in  oiled  silk.  As  he  broke  the  seal  he 


THE  UNOFFICIAL  SPY  289 

glanced  at  it  in  surprise,  then  hurriedly  exclaimed, 
"  There,  Burke.  Take  these  to  the  War  Depart- 
ment and  tell  them  they  can  turn  out  their  lights 
and  stop  their  telegrams.  This  seems  to  be  a  copy 
of  our  government's  plans  for  the  fortification  of 
the  Panama  Canal,  heights  of  guns,  location  of 
searchlights,  fire  control  stations,  everything  from 
painstaking  search  of  official  and  confidential  rec- 
ords. That  is  what  this  fellow  obtained  in  ex- 
change for  his  false  blue  prints  of  the  supposed 
coaling  station  on  the  Pacific. 

"  I  leave  the  Secret  Service  to  find  the  leak  in 
the  War  Department.  What  I  am  interested  in 
is  not  the  man  who  played  spy  for  two  nations  and 
betrayed  one  of  them.  To  me  this  adventurer  who 
calls  himself  Chateaurouge  is  merely  the  murderer 
of  Madame  de  Nevers." 


X 
THE  SMUGGLER 

IT  was  a  rather  sultry  afternoon  in  the  late  summer 
when  people  who  had  calculated  by  the  calendar 
rather  than  by  the  weather  were  returning  to  the 
city  from  the  seashore,  the  mountains,  and  abroad. 

Except  for  the  week-ends,  Kennedy  and  I  had 
been  pretty  busy,  though  on  this  particular  day 
there  was  a  lull  in  the  succession  of  cases  which 
had  demanded  our  urgent  attention  during  the 
summer. 

We  had  met  at  the  Public  Library,  where  Craig 
was  doing  some  special  research  at  odd  moments 
in  criminology.  Fifth  Avenue  was  still  half  de- 
serted, though  the  few  pedestrians  who  had  re- 
turned or  remained  in  town  like  ourselves  were,  as 
usual,  to  be  found  mostly  on  the  west  side  of  the 
street.  Nearly  everybody,  I  have  noticed,  walks 
on  the  one  side  of  Fifth  Avenue,  winter  or  summer. 

As  we  stood  on  the  corner  waiting  for  the  traffic 
man's  whistle  to  halt  the  crush  of  automobiles,  a 
man  on  the  top  of  a  'bus  waved  to  Kennedy. 

I  looked  up  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  Jack  Hern- 
don,  an  old  college  mate,  who  had  had  some  politi- 
cal aspirations  and  had  recently  been  appointed  to 
a  position  in  the  customs  house  of  New  York. 
Herndon,  I  may  add,  represented  the  younger  and 
clean-cut  generation  which  is  entering  official  life 

290 


THE  SMUGGLER  291 

with    great  advantage    to    both    themselves    and 
politics. 

The  'bus  pulled  up  to  the  curb,  and  Jack  tore 
down  the  breakneck  steps  hurriedly. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  of  you,  Craig,"  he  beamed 
as  we  all  shook  hands,  "  and  wondering  whether 
you  and  Walter  were  in  town.  I  think  I  should 
have  come  up  to  see  you  to-night,  anyhow." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter — more  sugar  frauds?  " 
laughed  Kennedy.  "  Or  perhaps  you  have  caught 
another  art  dealer  red-handed?  " 

"No,  not  exactly,"  replied  Herndon,  growing 
graver  for  the  moment.  "  We're  having  a  big 
shake-up  down  at  the  office,  none  of  your  '  new 
broom  '  business,  either.  Real  reform  it  is,  this 
time." 

"  And  you — are  you  going  or  coming?  "  inquired 
Craig  with  an  interested  twinkle. 

"  Coming,  Craig,  coming,"  answered  Jack  en- 
thusiastically. "  They've  put  me  in  charge  of  a 
sort  of  detective  force  as  a  special  deputy  surveyor 
to  rout  out  some  smuggling  that  we  know  is  going 
on.  If  I  make  good  it  will  go  a  long  way  for  me 
— with  all  this  talk  of  efficiency  and  economy  down 
in  Washington  these  days." 

"What's  on  your  mind  now?"  asked  Kennedy 
observantly.  "  Can  I  help  you  in  any  way?  " 

Herndon  had  taken  each  of  us  by  an  arm  and 
walked  us  over  to  a  stone  bench  in  the  shade  of  the 
library  building. 

"  You  have  read  the  accounts  in  the  afternoon 
papers  of  the  peculiar  death  of  Mademoiselle  Vio- 


292  THE  POISONED  PEN 

lette,  the  little  French  modiste,  up  here  on  Forty- 
sixth  Street?"  he  inquired. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Kennedy.  "  What  has  that  to 
do  with  customs  reform?  " 

"  A  good  deal,  I  fear,"  Herndon  continued. 
"  It's  part  of  a  case  that  has  been  bothering  us  all 
summer.  It's  the  first  really  big  thing  I've  been  up 
against  and  it's  as  ticklish  a  bit  of  business  as  even 
a  veteran  treasury  agent  could  wish." 

Herndon  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  passing 
crowd  on  the  other  side  of  the  balustrade  and  con- 
tinued. "  It  started,  like  many  of  our  cases,  with 
the  anonymous  letter  writer.  Early  in  the  summer 
the  letters  began  to  come  in  to  the  deputy  sur- 
veyor's office,  all  unsigned,  though  quite  evidently 
written  in  a  woman's  hand,  disguised  of  course,  and 
on  rather  dainty  notepaper.  They  warned  us  of  a 
big  plot  to  smuggle  gowns  and  jewellery  from  Paris. 
Smuggling  jewellery  is  pretty  common  because  jewels 
take  up  little  space  and  are  very  valuable.  Per- 
haps it  doesn't  sound  to  you  like  a  big  thing  to 
smuggle  dresses,  but  when  you  realise  that  one 
of  those  filmy  lacy  creations  may  often  be  worth 
several  hundred,  if  not  thousand,  dollars,  and  that 
it  needs  only  a  few  of  them  on  each  ship  that  comes 
in  to  run  up  into  the  thousands,  perhaps  hundreds 
of  thousands  in  a  season,  you  will  see  how  essential 
it  is  to  break  up  that  sort  of  thing.  We've  been 
getting  after  the  individual  private  smugglers  pretty 
sharply  this  summer  and  we've  had  lots  of  criticism. 
If  we  could  land  a  big  fellow  and  make  an  object- 
lesson  of  the  extent  of  the  thing  I  believe  it  would 


THE  SMUGGLER  293 

leave   our   critics   of   the   press   without   a   leg   to 
stand  on.  . 

"  At  least  that  was  why  I  was  interested  in  the 
letters.  But  it  was  not  until  a  few  days  ago  that 
we  got  a  tip  that  gave  us  a  real  working  clue, 
for  the  anonymous  letters  had  been  very  vague  as 
to  names,  dates,  and  places,  though  bold  enough  as 
to  general  charges,  as  if  the  writer  were  fearful  of 
incriminating  herself— or  himself.  Strange  to  say, 
this  new  clue  came  from  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
customs  men.  She  happened  to  be  in  a  Broadway 
manicure  shop  one  day  when  she  heard  a  woman 
talking  with  the  manicurist  about  fall  styles,  and 
she  was  all  attention  when  she  heard  the  customer 
say,  '  You  remember  Mademoiselle  Violette's— that 
place  that  had  the  exquisite  things  straight  from 
Paris,  and  so  cheaply,  too?  Well,  Violette  says 
she'll  have  to  raise  her  prices  so  that  they  will  be 
nearly  as  high  as  the  regular  stores.  She  says  the 
tariff  has  gone  up,  or  something,  but  it  hasn't,  has 

it?' 

"The  manicurist  laughed  knowingly,  and  the 
next  remark  caught  the  woman's  attention.  '  No, 
indeed.  But  then,  I  guess  she  meant  that  she  had 
to  pay  the  duty  now.  You  know  they  are  getting 
much  stricter.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  imagine  most 
of  Violette's  goods  were — well ' 

"*  Smuggled?'  supplied  the  customer  in  an  un- 
dertone. 

"The  manicurist  gave  a  slight  shrug  of  the 
shoulders  and  a  bright  little  yes  of  a  laugh. 

"That  was  all.     But  it  was  enough.     I  set  a 


294  THE  POISONED  PEN 

special  customs  officer  to  watch  Mademoiselle,  a 
clever  fellow.  He  didn't  have  time  to  find  out 
much,  but  on  the  other  hand  I  am  sure  he  didn't 
do  anything  to  alarm  Mademoiselle.  That  would 
have  been  a  bad  game.  His  case  was  progressing 
favourably  and  he  had  become  acquainted  with  one 
of  the  girls  who  worked  in  the  shop.  We  might 
have  got  some  evidence,  but  suddenly  this  morning 
he  walked  up  to  my  desk  and  handed  me  an  early 
edition  of  an  afternoon  paper.  Mademoiselle  Vio- 
lette  had  been  discovered  dead  in  her  shop  by  the 
girls  when  they  came  to  work  this  morning.  Ap- 
parently she  had  been  there  all  night,  but  the  report 
was  quite  indefinite  and  I  am  on  my  way  up  there 
now  to  meet  the  coroner,  who  has  agreed  to  wait 
for  me." 

"  You  think  there  is  some  connection  between 
her  death  and  the  letters?  "  put  in  Craig. 

"  Of  course  I  can't  say,  yet,"  answered  Hern- 
don  dubiously.  "  The  papers  seem  to  think  it  was 
a  suicide.  But  then  why  should  she  commit  suicide? 
My  man  found  out  that  among  the  girls  it  was 
common  gossip  that  she  was  to  marry  Jean  Pierre, 
the  Fifth  Avenue  jeweller,  of  the  firm  of  Lang  & 
Pierre  down  on  the  next  block.  Pierre  is  due  in 
New  York  on  La  Montaigne  to-night  or  to-morrow 
morning. 

'  Why,  if  my  suspicions  are  correct,  it  is  this 
Pierre  who  is  the  brains  of  the  whole  affair.  And 
here's  another  thing.  You  know  we  have  a  sort  of 
secret  service  in  Paris  and  other  European  cities 
which  is  constantly  keeping  an  eye  on  purchases  of 


THE  SMUGGLER  295 

goods  by  Americans  abroad.     Well,  the  chief  of 
our  men  in  Paris  cables  me  that  Pierre  is  known  to 
have  made  extraordinarily  heavy  purchases  of  made- 
up  jewellery  this  season.    For  one  thing,  we  believe 
he  has  acquired  from  a  syndicate  a  rather  famous 
diamond  necklace  which  it  has  taken  years  to  as- 
semble and  match  up,  worth  about  three  hundred 
thousand.    You  know  the  duty  on  made-up  jewellery 
is  sixty  per  cent.,  and  even  if  he  brought  the  stones 
in  loose  it  would  be  ten  per  cent.,  which  on  a  valua- 
tion of,  say,  two  hundred  thousand,  means  twenty 
thousand  dollars  duty  alone.     Then  he  has  a  splen- 
did '  dog  collar  '  of  pearls,  and,  oh,  a  lot  of  other 
stuff      I  know  because  we   get  our  tips  from  all 
sorts  of  sources  and  they  are  usually  pretty  straight. 
Some  come  from  dealers  who  are  sore  about  not 
making  sales  themselves.     So  you   see  there  is  a 
good  deal  at  stake  in  this  case  and  it  may  be  that 
in  following  it  out  we  shall  kill  more  than  one  bird. 
I  wish  you'd  come  along  with  me  up  to  ^Made- 
moiselle  Violette's  and  give  me  an  opinion. 

Craig  had  already  risen  from  the  bench  and  we 
were  walking  up  the  Avenue. 

The  establishment  of  Mademoiselle  Violette  con- 
sisted of  a  three-story  and  basement  brownstone 
house  in  which  the  basement  and  first  floor  had 
been  remodelled  for  business  purposes.  Made 
moiselle's  place,  which  was  on  the  first  floor,  was 
announced  to  the  world  by  a  neat  little  oval  gilt 
sign  on  the  handrailing  of  the  steps. 

We  ascended  and  rang  the  bell.     As  we  waited 
I  noticed  that  there  were  several  other  modistes 


296  THE  POISONED  PEN 

on  the  same  street,  while  almost  directly  across  was 
a  sign  which  proclaimed  that  on  September  15 
Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  would  open  with  a  high 
class  exhibition  of  imported  gowns  from  Paris. 

We  entered.  The  coroner  and  an  undertaker 
were  already  there,  and  the  former  was  expecting 
Herndon.  Kennedy  and  I  had  already  met  him 
and  he  shook  hands  cordially. 

Mademoiselle  Violette,  it  seemed,  had  rented  the 
entire  house  and  then  had  sublet  the  basement  to 
a  milliner,  using  the  first  floor  herself,  the  second 
as  a  workroom  for  the  girls  whom  she  employed, 
while  she  lived  on  the  top  floor,  which  had  been 
fitted  for  light  housekeeping  with  a  kitchenette.  It 
was  in  the  back  room  of  the  shop  itself  on  the  first 
floor  that  her  body  had  been  discovered,  lying  on 
a  davenport. 

"  The  newspaper  reports  were  very  indefinite," 
began  Herndon,  endeavouring  to  take  in  the  situa- 
tion. "  I  suppose  they  told  nearly  all  the  story,  but 
what  caused  her  death?  Have  you  found  that  out 
yet?  Was  it  poison  or  violence?  " 

The  coroner  said  nothing,  but  with  a  significant 
glance  at  Kennedy  he  drew  a  peculiar  contrivance 
from  his  pocket.  It  had  four  round  holes  in  it  and 
through  each  hole  he  slipped  a  finger,  then  closed 
his  hand,  and  exhibited  his  clenched  fist.  It  looked 
as  if  he  wore  a  series  of  four  metal  rings  on  his 
fingers. 

"Brass  knuckles?"  suggested  Herndon,  looking 
hastily  at  the  body,  which  showed  not  a  sign  of 
violence  on  the  stony  face. 


THE  SMUGGLER  297 

The  coroner  shook  his  head  knowingly.  Sud- 
denly he  raised  his  fist.  I  saw  him  press  hard  with 
his  thumb  on  the  upper  end  of  the  metal  contrivance. 
From  the  other  end,  just  concealed  under  his  little 
finger,  there  shot  out  as  if  released  by  a  magic  spring 
a  thin  keen  little  blade  of  the  brightest  and  toughest 
steel.  He  was  holding,  instead  of  a  meaningless 
contrivance  of  four  rings,  a  most  dangerous  kind  of 
stiletto  or  dagger  upraised.  He  lifted  his  thumb 
and  the  blade  sprang  back  into  its  sheath  like  an 
extinguished  spark  of  light. 

"  An  Apache  dagger,  such  as  is  used  in  the  under- 
world of  Paris,"  broke  out  Kennedy,  his  eyes  gleam- 
ing with  interest. 

The  coroner  nodded.  "  We  found  it,"  he  said, 
"  clasped  loosely  in  her  hand.  But  it  is  only  by 
expert  medical  testimony  that  we  can  determine 
whether  it  was  placed  on  her  fingers  before  or  after 
this  happened.  We  have  photographed  it,  and  the 
prints  are  being  developed." 

He  had  now  uncovered  the  slight  figure  of  the 
little  French  modiste.  On  the  dress,  instead  of  the 
profuse  flow  of  blood  which  we  had  expected  to  see, 
there  was  a  single  round  spot.  And  in  the  white 
marble  skin  of  her  breast  was  a  little,  nearly  micro- 
scopic puncture,  directly  over  the  heart. 

"  She  must  have  died  almost  instantly,"  com- 
mented Kennedy,  glancing  from  the  Apache  weapon 
to  the  dead  woman  and  back  again.  "  Internal 
hemorrhage.  I  suppose  you  have  searched  her 
effects.  Have  you  found  anything  that  gives  a  hint 
among  them?  " 


298  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  No,"  replied  the  coroner  doubtfully,  "  I  can't 
say  we  have — unless  it  is  the  bundle  of  letters  from 
Pierre,  the  jeweller.  They  seem  to  have  been  en- 
gaged, and  yet  the  letters  stopped  abruptly,  and, 
well,  from  the  tone  of  the  last  one  from  him  I 
should  say  there  was  a  quarrel  brewing." 

An  exclamation  from  Herndon  followed.  '  The 
same  notepaper  and  the  same  handwriting  as  the 
anonymous  letters,"  he  cried. 

But  that  was  all.  Go  over  the  ground  as  Ken- 
nedy might  he  could  find  nothing  further  than  the 
coroner  and  Herndon  had  already  revealed. 

"  About  these  people,  Lang  &  Pierre,"  asked 
Craig  thoughtfully  when  we  had  left  Mademoiselle's 
and  were  riding  downtown  to  the  customs  house 
with  Herndon.  "  What  do  you  know  about  them? 
I  presume  that  Lang  is  in  America,  if  his  partner 
is  abroad." 

"  Yes,  he  is  here  in  New  York.  I  believe  the 
firm  has  a  rather  unsavoury  reputation;  they  have 
to  be  watched,  I  am  told.  Then,  too,  one  or  the 
other  of  the  partners  makes  frequent  trips  abroad, 
mostly  Pierre.  Pierre,  as  you  see,  was  very  inti- 
mate with  Mademoiselle,  and  the  letters  simply 
confirm  what  the  girls  told  my  detective.  He  was 
believed  to  be  engaged  to  her  and  I  see  no  reason 
now  to  doubt  that.  The  fact  is,  Kennedy,  it 
wouldn't  surprise  me  in  the  least  to  learn  that  it 
was  he  who  engineered  the  smuggling  for  her  as 
well  as  himself." 

"  What  about  the  partner?  What  role  does  he 
play  in  your  suspicions?  " 


THE  SMUGGLER  299 

"  That's  another  curious  feature.  Lang  doesn't 
seem  to  bother  much  with  the  business.  He  is  a 
sort  of  silent  partner,  although  nominally  the  head 
of  the  firm.  Still,  they  both  seem  always  to  be 
plentifully  supplied  with  money  and  to  have  a  good 
trade.  Lang  lives  most  of  the  time  up  on  the 
west  shore  of  the  Hudson,  and  seems  to  be  more 
interested  in  his  position  as  commodore  of  the  River- 
ledge  Yacht  Club  than  in  his  business  down  here. 
He  is  quite  a  sport,  a  great  motor-boat  enthusiast, 
and  has  lately  taken  to  hydroplanes." 

"  I  meant,"  repeated  Kennedy,  "  what  about  Lang 
and  Mademoiselle  Violette.  Were  they— ah— 
friendly?" 

"  Oh,"  replied  Herndon,  seeming  to  catch  the 
idea.  "  I  see.  Of  course — Pierre  abroad  and 
Lang  here.  I  see  what  you  mean.  Why,  the  girl 
told  my  man  that  Mademoiselle  Violette  used  to  go 
motor-boating  with  Lang,  but  only  when  her  fiance, 
Pierre,  was  along.  No,  I  don't  think  she  ever  had 
anything  to  do  with  Lang,  if  that's  what  you  are 
driving  at.  He  may  have  paid  attentions  to  her, 
but  Pierre  was  her  lover,  and  I  haven't  a  doubt 
but  that  if  Lang  made  any  advances  she  repelled 
them.  She  seems  to  have  thought  everything  of 
Pierre." 

We  had  reached  Herndon's  office  by  this  time. 
Leaving  word  with  his  stenographer  to  get  the  very 
latest  reports  from  La  Montaigne,  he  continued 
talking  to  us  about  his  work. 

"  Dressmakers,  milliners,  and  jewellers  are  our 
worst  offenders  now,"  he  remarked  as  we  stood 


300  THE  POISONED  PEN 

gazing  out  of  the  window  at  the  panorama  of  the 
bay  off  the  sea-wall  of  the  Battery.  "  Why,  time 
and  again  we  unearth  what  looks  for  all  the  world 
like  a  '  dressmakers'  syndicate,'  though  this  case  is 
the  first  I've  had  that  involved  a  death.  Really, 
I've  come  to  look  on  smuggling  as  one  of  the  fine 
arts  among  crimes.  Once  the  smuggler,  like  the 
pirate  and  the  highwayman,  was  a  sort  of  gentle- 
man-rogue. But  now  it  has  become  a  very  ladylike 
art.  The  extent  of  it  is  almost  beyond  belief,  too. 
It  begins  with  the  steerage  and  runs  right  up  to  the 
absolute  unblushing  cynicism  of  the  first  cabin.  I 
suppose  you  know  that  women,  particularly  a  certain 
brand  of  society  women,  are  the  worst  and  most 
persistent  offenders.  Why,  they  even  boast  of  it. 
Smuggling  isn't  merely  popular* — it's  aristocratic. 
But  we're  going  to  take  some  of  the  flavour  out 
of  it  before  we  finish." 

He  tore  open  a  cable  message  which  a  boy  had 
brought  in.  "  Now,  take  this,  for  instance,"  he 
continued.  "  You  remember  the  sign  across  the 
street  from  Mademoiselle  Violette's,  announcing 
that  a  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  was  going  to  open 
a  salon  or  whatever  they  call  it?  Well,  here's  an- 
other cable  from  our  Paris  Secret  Service  with  a 
belated  tip.  They  tell  us  to  look  out  for  a 
Mademoiselle  Gabrielle — on  La  Montaigne,  too. 
That's  another  interesting  thing.  You  know  the 
various  lines  are  all  ranked,  at  least  in  our  estima- 
tion, according  to  the  likelihood  of  such  offences  be- 
ing perpetrated  by  their  passengers.  We  watch 
ships  from  London,  Liverpool,  and  Paris  most  care- 


THE  SMUGGLER  301 

fully.     Scandinavian  ships  are  the  least  likely  to 
need  watching.     Well,  Miss  Roberts?" 

"  We  have  just  had  a  wireless  about  La  Mon- 
taigne," reported  his  stenographer,  who  had  en- 
tered while  he  was  speaking,  "  and  she  is  three 
hundred  miles  east  of  Sandy  Hook.  She  won't 
dock  until  to-morrow." 

"Thank  you.  Well,  fellows,  it  is  getting  late 
and  that  means  nothing  more  doing  to-night.  Can 
you  be  here  early  in  the  morning?  We'll  go  down 
the  bay  and  *  bring  in  the  ship,'  as  our  men  call  it 
when  the  deputy  surveyor  and  his  acting  deputies 
go  down  to  meet  it  at  Quarantine.  I  can't  tell  you 
how  much  I  appreciate  your  kindness  in  helping  me. 
If  my  men  get  anything  connecting  Lang  with 
Mademoiselle  Violette's  case  I'll  let  you  know  im- 
mediately." 

It  was  a  bright  clear  snappy  morning,  in  contrast 
with  the  heat  of  the  day  before,  when  we  boarded 
the  revenue  tug  at  the  Barge  Office.  The  waters 
of  the  harbour  never  looked  more  blue  as  they 
danced  in  the  early  sunlight,  flecked  here  and  there 
by  a  foaming  whitecap  as  the  conflicting  tides  eddied 
about.  The  shores  of  Staten  Island  were  almost 
as  green  as  in  the  spring,  and  even  the  haze  over 
the  Brooklyn  factories  had  lifted.  It  looked  almost 
like  a  stage  scene,  clear  and  sharp,  new  and  brightly 
coloured. 

Perhaps  the  least  known  and  certainly  one  of  the 
least  recognised  of  the  government  services  is  that 
which  includes  the  vigilant  ships  of  the  revenue  serv- 
ice. It  was  not  a  revenue  cutter,  however,  on  which 


302  THE  POISONED  PEN 

we  were  ploughing  down  the  bay.  The  cutter  lay, 
white  and  gleaming  in  the  morning  sun,  at  anchor 
off  Stapleton,  like  a  miniature  warship,  saluting 
as  we  passed.  The  revenue  boats  which  steam  down 
to  Quarantine  and  make  fast  to  the  incoming  ocean 
greyhounds  are  revenue  tugs. 

Down  the  bay  we  puffed  and  buffeted  for  about 
forty  minutes  before  we  arrived  at  the  little  speck 
of  an  island  that  is  Quarantine.  Long  before  we 
were  there  we  sighted  the  great  La  Montaigne 
near  the  group  of  buildings  on  the  island,  where 
she  had  been  waiting  since  early  morning  for  the 
tide  and  the  customs  officials.  The  tug  steamed 
alongside,  and  quickly  up  the  high  ladders  swarmed 
the  boarding  officer  and  the  deputy  collectors.  We 
followed  Herndon  straight  to  the  main  saloon, 
where  the  collectors  began  to  receive  the  declara- 
tions which  had  been  made  out  on  blanks  furnished 
to  the  passengers  on  the  voyage  over.  They  had 
had  several  days  to  write  them  out — the  less  excuse 
for  omissions. 

Glancing  at  each  hastily  the  collector  detached 
from  it  the  slip  with  the  number  at  the  bottom 
and  handed  the  number  back,  to  be  presented  at 
the  inspector's  desk  at  the  pier,  where  customs  in- 
spectors were  assigned  in  turn. 

"  Number  140  is  the  one  we  want  to  watch,"  I 
heard  Herndon  whisper  to  Kennedy.  "  That  tall 
dark  fellow  over  there." 

I  followed  his  direction  cautiously  and  saw  a 
sparely  built,  striking  looking  man  who  had  just 
filed  his  declaration  and  was  chatting  vivaciously 


THE  SMUGGLER  303 

with  a  lady  who  was  just  about  to  file  hers.  She 
was  a  clinging  looking  little  thing  with  that  sort  of 
doll-like  innocence  that  deceives  nobody. 

"  No,  you  don't  have  to  swear  to  it,"  he  said. 
"  You  used  to  do  that,  but  now  you  simply  sign 
your  name — and  take  a  chance,"  he  added,  smiling 
and  showing  a  row  of  perfect  teeth. 

"Number  156,"  Herndon  noted  as  the  collector 
detached  the  stub  and  handed  it  to  her.  "  That 
was  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle." 

The  couple  passed  out  to  the  deck,  still  chatting 
gaily. 

"  In  the  old  days,  before  they  got  to  be  so  beastly 
particular,"  I  heard  him  say,  "  I  always  used  to 
get  the  courtesy  of  the  port,  an  official  expedite. 
But  that  is  over  now." 

The  ship  was  now  under  way,  her  flags  snapping 
in  the  brisk  coolish  breeze  that  told  of  approaching 
autumn.  We  had  passed  up  the  lower  bay  and  the 
Narrows,  and  the  passengers  were  crowded  forward 
to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  the  skyscrapers  of  New 
York. 

On  up  the  bay  we  ploughed,  throwing  the  spray 
proudly  as  we  went.  Herndon  employed  the  time 
in  keeping  a  sharp  watch  on  the  tall,  thin  man. 
Incidentally  he  sought  out  the  wireless  operator  and 
from  him  learned  that  a  code  wireless  message  had 
been  received  for  Pierre,  apparently  from  his  part- 
ner, Lang. 

"  There  is  no  mention  of  anything  dutiable  in  this 
declaration  by  140  which  corresponds  with  any  of 
the  goods  mentioned  in  the  first  cable  from  Paris," 


304  THE  POISONED  PEN 

a  collector  remarked  unobtrusively  to  Herndon, 
"nor  in  156  corresponding  to  the  second  cable." 

"  I  didn't  suppose  there  would  be,"  was  his 
laconic  reply.  '  That's  our  job — to  find  the  stuff." 

At  last  La  Montaigne  was  warped  into  the  dock. 
The  piles  of  first-class  baggage  on  the  ship  were 
raucously  deposited  on  the  wharf  and  slowly  the 
passengers  filed  down  the  plank  to  meet  the  line 
of  white-capped  uniformed  inspectors  and  plain- 
clothes  appraisers.  The  comedy  and  tragedy  of 
the  customs  inspection  had  begun. 

We  were  among  the  first  to  land.  Herndon  took 
up  a  position  from  which  he  could  see  without  being 
seen.  In  the  semi-light  of  the  little  windows  in  the 
enclosed  sides  of  the  pier,  under  the  steel  girders 
of  the  arched  roof  like  a  vast  hall,  there  was  a 
panorama  of  a  huge  mass  of  open  luggage. 

At  last  Number  140  came  down,  alone,  to  the 
roped-off  dock.  He  walked  nonchalantly  over  to 
the  little  deputy  surveyor's  desk,  and  an  inspector 
was  quickly  assigned  to  him.  It  was  all  done  neatly 
in  the  regular  course  of  business  apparently.  He 
did  not  know  that  in  the  orderly  rush  the  sharpest 
of  Herndon's  men  had  been  picked  out,  much  as  a 
trick  card  player  will  force  a  card  on  his  victim. 

Already  the  customs  inspection  was  well  along. 
One  inspector  had  been  assigned  to  about  each 
five  passengers,  and  big  piles  of  finery  were  being 
remorselessly  tumbled  out  in  shapeless  heaps  and 
exposed  to  the  gaze  of  that  part  of  the  public  which 
was  not  too  much  concerned  over  the  same  thing  as 
to  its  own  goods  and  chattels.  Reticules  and  purses 


THE  SMUGGLER  3<>5 

were  being  inspected.  Every  trunk  was  presumed 
to  have  a  false  bottom,  and  things  wrapped  up  in 
paper  were  viewed  suspiciously  and  unrolled. 
Clothes  were  being  shaken  and  pawed.  There  did 
not  seem  to  be  much  opportunity  for  concealment. 
Herndon  now  had  donned  the  regulation  straw 
hat  of  the  appraiser,  and  accompanied  by  us,  posing 
as  visitors,  was  sauntering  about.  At  last  we  came 
within  earshot  of  the  spot  where  the  inspector  was 
going  through  the  effects  of  140. 

Out  of  the  corner  of  my  eyes  I  could  see  that  a 
dispute  was  in  progress  over  some  trifling  matter. 
The  man  was  cool  and  calm.  "  Call  the  appraiser," 
he  said  at  last,  with  the  air  of  a  man  standing  on 
his  rights.  "  I  object  to  this  frisking  of  passengers. 
Uncle  Sam  is  little  better  than  a  pickpocket.  Be- 
sides, I  can't  wait  here  all  day.  My  partner  is  wait- 
ing for  me  uptown." 

Herndon  immediately  took  notice.  But  it  was 
quite  evidently,  after  all,  only  an  altercation  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  were  watching.  I  am  sure  he 
knew  he  was  being  watched,  but  as  the  dispute  pro- 
ceeded he  assumed  the  look  of  a  man  keenly  amused. 
The  matter,  involving  only  a  few  dollars,  was  finally 
adjusted  by  his  yielding  gracefully  and  with  an  air 
of  resignation.  Still  Herndon  did  not  go  and  I  am 
sure  it  annoyed  him. 

Suddenly  he  turned  and  faced  Herndon.  I  could 
not  help  thinking,  in  spite  of  all  that  he  must  be 
so  expert,  that,  if  he  really  were  a  smuggler,  he 
had  all  the  poise  and  skill  at  evasion  that  would 
entitle  him  to  be  called  a  past  master  of  the  art. 


306  THE  POISONED  PEN 

'  You  see  that  woman  over  there?  "  he  whispered. 
"  She  says  she  is  just  coming  home  after  studying 
music  in  Paris." 

We  looked.  It  was  the  guileless  ingenue,  Made- 
moiselle Gabrielle. 

"  She  has  dutiable  goods,  all  right.  I  saw  her 
declaration.  She  is  trying  to  bring  in  as  personal 
effects  of  a  foreign  resident  gowns  which,  I  believe, 
she  intends  to  wear  on  the  stage.  She's  an  actress." 

There  was  nothing  for  Herndon  to  do  but  to 
act  on  the  tip.  The  man  had  got  rid  of  us  tem- 
porarily, but  we  knew  the  inspector  would  be,  if 
anything,  more  vigilant.  I  think  he  took  even 
longer  than  usual. 

Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  and  her  maid  pouted  and 
fussed  over  the  renewed  examination  which  Hern- 
don ordered.  According  to  the  inspector  everything 
was  new  and  expensive;  according  to  her,  old, 
shabby,  and  cheap.  She  denied  everything,  raged 
and  threatened.  But  when,  instead  of  ordering  the 
stamp  "  Passed  "  to  be  placed  on  her  half  dozen 
trunks  and  bags  which  contained  in  reality  only  a 
few  dutiable  articles,  Herndon  threatened  to  order 
them  to  the  appraiser's  stores  and  herself  to  go  to 
the  Law  Division  if  she  did  not  admit  the  points 
in  dispute,  there  was  a  real  scene. 

"  Generally,  madame,"  he  remonstrated,  though 
I  could  see  he  was  baffled  at  finding  nothing  of  the 
goods  he  had  really  expected  to  find,  "  generally 
even  for  a  first  offence  the  goods  are  confiscated  and 
the  court  or  district  attorney  is  content  to  let  the 
person  off  with  a  fine.  If  this  happens  again  we'll 


THE  SMUGGLER  307 

be  more  severe.     So  you  had  better  pay  the  duty 
on  these  few  little  matters,  without  that." 

If  he  had  been  expecting  to  "  throw  a  scare  "  into 
her,  it  did  not  succeed.  "  Well,  I  suppose  if  I  must, 
I  must,"  she  said,  and  the  only  result  of  the  diver- 
sion was  that  she  paid  a  few  dollars  more  than  had 
been  expected  and  went  off  in  a  high  state  of  mind. 
Herndon  had  disappeared  for  a  moment,  after  a 
whisper  from  Kennedy,  to  instruct  two  of  his  men 
to  shadow  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  and,  later, 
Pierre.  He  soon  rejoined  us  and  we  casually  re- 
turned to  the  vicinity  of  our  tall  friend,  Number 
140,  for  whom  I  felt  even  less  respect  than  ever 
after  his  apparently  ungallant  action  toward  the  lady 
he  had  been  talking  with.  He  seemed  to  notice 
my  attitude  and  he  remarked  defensively  for  my 
benefit,  "  Only  a  patriotic  act." 

His  inspector  by  this  time  had  finished  a  most 
minute  examination.  There  was  nothing  that  could 
be  discovered,  not  a  false  book  with  a  secret  spring 
that  might  disclose  instead  of  reading  matter  a 
heap  of  almost  priceless  jewels,  not  a  suspicious 
bulging  of  any  garment  or  of  the  lining  of  a  trunk 
or  grip.  Some  of  the  goods  might  have  been  on 
his  person,  but  not  much,  and  certainly  there  was 
no  excuse  for  ordering  a  personal  examination,  for 
he  could  not  have  hidden  a  tenth  part  of  what  we 
knew  he  had,  even  under  the  proverbial  porous 
plaster.  He  was  impeccable.  Accordingly  there 
was  nothing  for  the  inspector  to  do  but  to  declare 
a  polite  armistice. 

"  So   you   didn't  find  *  Mona   Lisa  '   in   a   false 


308  THE  POISONED  PEN 

bottom,  and  my  trunks  were  not  lined  with  smuggled 
cigars  after  all,"  he  rasped  savagely  as  the  stamp 
"  Passed  "  was  at  last  affixed  and  he  paid  in  cash 
at  the  little  window  with  its  sign,  "  Pay  Duty  Here: 
U.  S.  Custom  House,"  some  hundred  dollars  in- 
stead of  the  thousands  Herndon  had  been  hoping 
to  collect,  if  not  to  seize. 

All  through  the  inspection,  an  extra  close  scrutiny 
had  been  kept  on  the  other  passengers  as  well,  to 
prevent  any  of  them  from  being  in  league  with  the 
smugglers,  though  there  was  no  direct  or  indirect 
evidence  to  show  that  any  of  the  others  were. 

We  were  about  to  leave  the  wharf,  also,  when 
Craig's  attention  was  called  to  a  stack  of  trunks 
still  remaining. 

"Whose  are  those?"  he  asked  as  he  lifted  one. 
It  felt  suspiciously  light. 

*'  Some  of  them  belong  to  a  Mr.  Pierre  and  the 
rest  to  a  Miss  Gabrielle,"  answered  an  inspector. 
"  Bonded  for  Troy  and  waiting  to  be  transferred 
by  the  express  company." 

Here,  perhaps,  at  last  was  an  explanation,  and 
Craig  took  advantage  of  it.  Could  it  be  that  the 
real  seat  of  trouble  was  not  here  but  at  some  other 
place,  that  some  exchange  was  to  be  made  en  route 
or  perhaps  an  attempt  at  bribery? 

Herndon,  too,  was  willing  to  run  a  risk.  He 
ordered  the  trunks  opened  immediately.  But  to 
our  disappointment  they  were  almost  empty.  There 
was  scarcely  a  thing  of  value  in  them.  Most  of 
the  contents  consisted  of  clothes  that  had  plainly 
been  made  in  America  and  were  being  brought  back 


THE  SMUGGLER  309 

here.  It  was  another  false  scent.  We  had  been 
played  with  and  baffled  at  every  turn.  Perhaps  this 
had  been  the  method  originally  agreed  on.  At  any 
rate  it  had  been  changed. 

"  Could  they  have  left  the  goods  in  Paris,  after 
all?"  I  queried. 

"  With  the  fall  and  winter  trade  just  coming  on?  " 
Kennedy  replied,  with  an  air  of  finality  that  set  at 
rest  any  doubts  about  his  opinion  on  that  score. 
"  I  thought  perhaps  we  had  a  case  of — what  do  you 
call  it,  Herndon,  when  they  leave  trunks  that  are 
to  be  secretly  removed  by  dishonest  expressmen  from 
the  wharf  at  night?  " 

"  '  Sleepers.'  Oh,  we've  broken  that  up,  too. 
No  expressman  would  dare  try  it  now.  I  must 
confess  this  thing  is  beyond  me,  Craig." 

Kennedy  made  no  answer.  Evidently  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  await  developments  and  see 
what  Herndon's  men  reported.  We  had  been 
beaten  at  every  turn  in  the  game.  Herndon  seemed 
to  feel  that  there  was  a  bitter  sting  in  the  defeat, 
particularly  because  the  smuggler  or  smugglers  had 
actually  been  in  our  grasp  so  long  to  do  with  as 
we  pleased,  and  had  so  cleverly  slipped  out  again, 
leaving  us  holding  the  bag. 

Kennedy  was  especially  thoughtful  as  he  told  over 
the  facts  of  the  case  in  his  mind.  "  Of  course," 
he  remarked,  "  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  wasn't  an 
actress.  But  we  can't  deny  that  she  had  very  little 
that  would  justify  Herndon  in  holding  her,  unless 
he  simply  wants  a  newspaper  row." 

"  But  I  thought  Pierre  was  quite  intimate  with 


3io  THE  POISONED  PEN 

her  at  first,"  I  ventured.  "  That  was  a  dirty  trick 
of  his." 

Craig  laughed.  "  You  mean  an  old  one.  That 
was  simply  a  blind,  to  divert  attention  from  him- 
self. I  suspect  they  talked  that  over  between  them- 
selves for  days  before." 

It  was  plainly  more  perplexing  than  ever.  What 
had  happened?  Had  Pierre  been  a  prestidigitator 
and  had  he  merely  said  presto !  when  our  backs  were 
turned  and  whisked  the  goods  invisibly  into  the 
country?  I  could  find  no  explanation  for  the  little 
drama  on  the  pier.  If  Herndon's  men  had  any 
genius  in  detecting  smuggling,  their  professional 
opponent  certainly  had  greater  genius  in  perpetrat- 
ing it. 

We  did  not  see  Herndon  again  until  after  a 
hasty  luncheon.  He  was  in  his  office  and  inclined 
to  take  a  pessimistic  view  of  the  whole  affair.  He 
brightened  up  when  a  telephone  message  came  in 
from  one  of  his  shadows.  The  men  trailing  Pierre 
and  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  had  crossed  trails  and 
run  together  at  a  little  French  restaurant  on  the 
lower  West  Side,  where  Pierre,  Lang,  and  Made- 
moiselle Gabrielle  had  met  and  were  dining  in  a 
most  friendly  spirit.  Kennedy  was  right.  She  had 
been  merely  a  cog  in  the  machinery  of  the  plot. 

The  man  reported  that  even  when  a  newsboy  had 
been  sent  in  by  him  with  the  afternoon  papers  dis- 
playing in  big  headlines  the  mystery  of  the  death  of 
Mademoiselle  Violette,  they  had  paid  no  attention. 
It  seemed  evident  that  whatever  the  fate  of  the 
little  modiste,  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  had  quite 


THE  SMUGGLER  311 

replaced  her  in  the  affections  of  Pierre.  There  was 
nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  separate  and  await 
developments. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Craig  and  I 
received  a  hurried  message  from  Herndon.  One 
of  his  men  had  just  called  him  up  over  long  distance 
from  Riverledge.  The  party  had  left  the  restaurant 
hurriedly,  and  though  they  had  taken  the  only  taxi- 
cab  in  sight  he  had  been  able  to  follow  them  in  time 
to  find  out  that  they  were  going  up  to  Riverledge. 
They  were  now  preparing  to  go  out  for  a  sail  in 
one  of  Lang's  motor-boats  and  he  would  be  unable, 
of  course,  to  follow  them  further. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  Kennedy  re- 
mained pondering  the  case.  At  last  an  idea  seemed 
to  dawn  on  him.  He  found  Herndon  still  at  his 
office  and  made  an  appointment  to  meet  on  the 
waterfront  near  La  Montaigne's  pier,  after  dinner. 
The  change  in  Kennedy's  spirits  was  obvious,  though 
it  did  not  in  the  least  enlighten  my  curiosity.  Even 
after  a  dinner  which  was  lengthened  out  consider- 
ably, I  thought,  I  did  not  get  appreciably  nearer 
a  solution,  for  we  strolled  over  to  the  laboratory, 
where  Craig  loaded  me  down  with  a  huge  package 
which  was  wrapped  up  in  heavy  paper. 

We  arrived  on  the  corner  opposite  the  wharf  just 
as  it  was  growing  dusk.  The  neighbourhood  did 
not  appeal  to  me  at  night,  and  even  though  there 
were  two  of  us  I  was  rather  glad  when  we  met 
Herndon,  who  was  waiting  in  the  shadow  of  a  fruit 
stall. 

But  instead  of  proceeding  across  to  the  pier  by 


3i2  THE  POISONED  PEN 

the  side  of  which  La  Montaigne  was  moored,  we 
cut  across  the  wide  street  and  turned  down  the 
next  pier,  where  a  couple  of  freighters  were  lying. 
,The  odour  of  salt  water,  sewage,  rotting  wood,  and 
the  night  air  was  not  inspiring.  Nevertheless  I 
was  now  carried  away  with  the  strangeness  of  our 
adventure. 

Halfway  down  the  pier  Kennedy  paused  before 
one  of  the  gangways  that  was  shrouded  in  darkness. 
The  door  was  opened  and  we  followed  gingerly 
across  the  dirty  deck  of  the  freight  ship.  Below 
we  could  hear  the  water  lapping  the  piles  of  the 
pier.  Across  a  dark  abyss  lay  the  grim  monster 
La  Montaigne  with  here  and  there  a  light  gleaming 
on  one  of  her  decks.  The  sounds  of  the  city  seemed 
miles  away. 

u  What  a  fine  place  for  a  murder,"  laughed  Ken- 
nedy coolly.  He  was  unwrapping  the  package 
which  he  had  taken  from  me.  It  proved  to  be  a 
huge  reflector  in  front  of  which  was  placed  a  little 
arrangement  which,  under  the  light  of  a  shaded 
lantern  carried  by  Herndon,  looked  like  a  coil  of 
wire  of  some  kind. 

To  the  back  of  the  reflector  Craig  attached  two 
other  flexible  wires  which  led  to  a  couple  of  dry 
cells  and  a  cylinder  with  a  broadened  end,  made  of 
vulcanised  rubber.  It  might  have  been  a  telephone 
receiver,  for  all  I  could  tell  in  the  darkness. 

While  I  was  still  speculating  on  the  possible  use 
of  the  enormous  parabolic  reflector,  a  slight  com- 
motion on  the  opposite  side  of  the  pier  distracted 
my  attention.  A  ship  was  coming  in  and  was  being 


THE  SMUGGLER  313 

carefully  and  quietly  berthed  alongside  the  other 
big  iron  freighter  on  that  side.  Herndon  had 
left  us. 

'  The  Mohican  is  here,"  he  remarked  as  he  re- 
joined us.  To  my  look  of  inquiry  he  added,  "  The 
revenue  cutter." 

Kennedy  had  now  finished  and  had  pointed  the 
reflector  full  at  La  Montaigne.  With  a  whispered 
hasty  word  of  caution  and  advice  to  Herndon,  he 
drew  me  along  with  him  down  the  wharf  again. 

At  the  little  door  which  was  cut  in  the  barrier 
guarding  the  shore  end  of  La  Montaigne's  wharf 
Kennedy  stopped.  The  customs  service  night 
watchman — there  is  always  a  watchman  of  some 
kind  aboard  every  ship,  passenger  or  freighter,  all 
the  time  she  is  in  port — seemed  to  understand,  for 
he  admitted  us  after  a  word  with  Kennedy. 

Threading  our  way  carefully  among  the  boxes, 
and  bales,  and  crates  which  were  piled  high,  we 
proceeded  down  the  wharf.  Under  the  electric 
lights  the  longshoremen  were  working  feverishly, 
for  the  unloading  and  loading  of  a  giant  trans- 
Atlantic  vessel  in  the  rush  season  is  a  long  and 
tedious  process  at  best,  requiring  night  work  and 
overtime,  for  every  moment,  like  every  cubic  foot 
of  space,  counts. 

Once  within  the  door,  however,  no  one  paid  much 
attention  to  us.  They  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted 
that  we  had  some  right  there.  We  boarded  the  ship 
by  one  of  the  many  entrances  and  then  proceeded 
down  to  a  deck  where  apparently  no  one  was  work- 
ing. It  was  more  like  a  great  house  than  a  ship, 


3i4  THE  POISONED  PEN 

I  felt,  and  I  wondered  whether  Kennedy's  search 
was  not  more  of  a  hunt  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack 
than  anything  else.  Yet  he  seemed  to  know  what 
he  was  after. 

We  had  descended  to  what  I  imagined  must  be 
the  quarters  of  the  steward.  About  us  were  many 
large  cases  and  chests,  stacked  up  and  marked  as 
belonging  to  the  ship.  Kennedy's  attention  was  at- 
tracted to  them  immediately.  All  at  once  it  flashed 
on  me  what  his  purpose  was.  In  some  of  those 
cases  were  the  smuggled  goods! 

Before  I  could  say  a  word  and  before  Kennedy 
had  a  chance  even  to  try  to  verify  his  suspicions,  a 
sudden  approach  of  footsteps  startled  us.  He  drew 
me  into  a  cabin  or  room  full  of  shelves  with  ship's 
stores. 

'  Why  didn't  you  bring  Herndon  over  and  break 
into  the  boxes,  if  you  think  the  stuff  is  hidden  in 
one  of  them?  "  I  whispered. 

"  And  let  those  higher  up  escape  while  their 
tools  take  all  the  blame?  "  he  answered.  "  Sh-h." 

The  men  who  had  come  into  the  compartment 
looked  about  as  if  expecting  to  see  some  one. 

''  Two  of  them  came  down,"  a  gruff  voice  said. 
'  Where  are  they?" 

From  the  noise  I  inferred  that  there  must  be 
four  or  five  men,  and  from  the  ease  with  which 
they  shifted  the  cases  about  some  of  them  must 
have  been  pretty  husky  stevedores. 

"  I  don't  know,"  a  more  polished  but  unfamiliar 
voice  answered. 

The  door  to  our  hiding-place  was  opened  roughly 


THE  SMUGGLER  315 

and  then  banged  shut  before  we  realised  it.  With 
a  taunting  laugh,  some  one  turned  a  key  in  the  lock 
and  before  we  could  move  a  quick  shift  of  packing 
cases  against  the  door  made  escape  impossible. 

Here  we  were  marooned,  shanghaied,  as  it  were, 
within  sight  if  not  call  of  Herndon  and  our  friends. 
We  had  run  up  against  professional  smugglers,  of 
whom  I  had  vaguely  read,  disguised  as  stewards, 
deckhands,  stokers,  and  other  workers. 

The  only  other  opening  to  the  cabin  was  a  sort 
of  porthole,  more  for  ventilation  than  anything  else. 
Kennedy  stuck  his  head  through  it,  but  it  was  im- 
possible for  a  man  to  squeeze  out.  There  was  one 
of  the  lower  decks  directly  before  us  while  a  bright 
arc  light  gleamed  tantalisingly  over  it,  throwing  a 
round  circle  of  light  into  our  prison.  I  reflected 
bitterly  on  our  shipwreck  within  sight  of  port. 

Kennedy  remained  silent,  and  I  did  not  know  what 
was  working  in  his  mind.  Together  we  made  out 
the  outline  of  the  freighter  at  the  next  wharf  and 
speculated  as  to  the  location  where  we  had  left 
Herndon  with  the  huge  reflector.  There  was  no 
moon  and  it  was  as  black  as  ink  in  that  direction, 
but  if  we  could  have  got  out  I  would  have  trusted 
to  luck  to  reach  it  by  swimming. 

Below  us,  from  the  restless  water  lapping  on  the 
sides  of  the  hulk  of  La  Montaigne,  we  could  now 
hear  muffled  sounds.  It  was  a  motor-boat  which 
had  come  crawling  up  the  river  front,  with  lights 
extinguished,  and  had  pushed  a  cautious  nose  into 
the  slip  where  our  ship  lay  at  the  quay.  None  of 
your  romantic  low-lying,  rakish  craft  of  the  old 


3i6  THE  POISONED  PEN 

smuggling  yarns  was  this,  ready  for  deeds  of  des- 
peration in  the  dark  hours  of  midnight.  It  was 
just  a  modern  little  motor-boat,  up-to-date,  and 
swift. 

"  Perhaps  we'll  get  out  of  this  finally,"  I  grumbled 
as  I  understood  now  what  was  afoot,  "  but  not  in 
time  to  be  of  any  use." 

A  smothered  sound  as  of  something  going  over 
the  vessel's  side  followed.  It  was  one  of  the  boxes 
which  we  had  seen  outside  in  the  storeroom.  An- 
other followed,  and  a  third  and  a  fourth. 

Then  came  a  subdued  parley.  "  We  have  two 
customs  detectives  locked  in  a  cabin  here.  We  can't 
stay  now.  You'll  have  to  take  us  and  our  things 
off,  too." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  called  up  another  muffled  voice. 
"  Make  your  things  into  a  little  bundle.  We'll 
take  that,  but  you'll  have  to  get  past  the  night- 
watchman  yourselves  and  meet  us  at  Riverledge." 

A  moment  later  something  else  went  over  the 
side,  and  from  the  sound  we  could  infer  that  the 
engine  of  the  motor-boat  was  being  started. 

A  voice  sounded  mockingly  outside  our  door. 
"  Bon  soir,  you  fellows  in  there.  We're  going  up 
the  dock.  Sorry  to  leave  you  here  till  morning, 
but  they'll  let  you  out  then.  Au  revoir." 

Below  I  could  hear  just  the  faintest  well-muffled 
chug-chug.  Kennedy  in  the  meantime  had  been 
coolly  craning  his  neck  out  of  our  porthole  under 
the  rays  of  the  arc  light  overhead.  He  was  hold- 
ing something  in  his  hand.  It  seemed  like  a  little 
silver-backed  piece  of  thin  glass  with  a  flaring  funnel- 


THE  SMUGGLER  317 

like  thing  back  of  it,  which  he  held  most  particu- 
larly. Though  he  heard  the  parting  taunt  outside 
he  paid  no  attention. 

1  You  go  to  the  deuce,  whoever  you  are,"  I  cried, 
beating  on  'the  door,  to  which  only  a  coarse  laugh 
echoed  back  down  the  passageway. 

"  Be  quiet,  Walter,"  ordered  Kennedy.  "  We 
have  located  the  smuggled  goods  in  the  storeroom 
of  the  steward,  four  wooden  cases  of  them.  I 
think  the  stuff  must  have  been  brought  on  the  ship 
in  the  trunks  and  then  transferred  to  the  cases,  per- 
haps after  the  code  wireless  message  was  received. 
But  we  have  been  overpowered  and  locked  in  a 
cabin  with  a  port  too  small  to  crawl  through.  The 
cases  have  been  lowered  over  the  side  of  the  ship 
to  a  motor-boat  that  was  waiting  below.  The  lights 
on  the  boat  are  out,  but  if  you  hurry  you  can  get 
it.  The  accomplices  who  locked  us  in  are  going 
to  disappear  up  the  wharf.  If  you  could  only  get 
the  night  watchman  quickly  enough  you  could  catch 
them,  too,  before  they  reach  the  street." 

I  had  turned,  half  expecting  to  see  Kennedy 
talking  to  a  ship's  officer  who  might  have  chanced 
on  the  deck  outside.  There  was  no  one.  The  only 
thing  of  life  was  the  still  sputtering  arc  light.  Had 
the  man  gone  crazy? 

"What  of  it?"  I  growled.  "Don't  you  sup- 
pose I  know  all  that?  What's  the  use  of  repeating 
it  now?  The  thing  to  do  is  to  get  out  of  this  hole. 
Come,  help  me  at  this  door.  Maybe  we  can  batter 
it  down." 

Kennedy  paid  no  attention  to  me,  however,  but 


3i8  THE  POISONED  PEN 

kept  his  eyes  glued  on  the  Cimmerian  blackness  out- 
side the  porthole. 

He  had  done  nothing  apparently,  yet  a  long  finger 
of  light  seemed  to  shoot  out  into  the  sky  from  the 
pier  across  from  us  and  begin  waving  back  and 
forth  as  it  was  lowered  to  the  dark  waters  of  the 
river.  It  was  a  searchlight.  At  once  I  thought 
of  the  huge  reflector  which  I  had  seen  set  up.  But 
that  had  been  on  our  side  of  the  next  pier  and  this 
light  came  from  the  far  side  where  the  Mohican  lay. 

"What  is  it?"  I  asked  eagerly.  "What  has 
happened?  " 

It  was  as  if  a  prayer  had  been  answered  from 
our  dungeon  on  La  Montaigne. 

"  I  knew  we  should  need  some  means  to  com- 
municate with  Herndon,"  he  explained  simply,  "  and 
the  wireless  telephone  wasn't  practicable.  So  I  have 
used  Dr.  Alexander  Graham  Bell's  photophone. 
Any  of  the  lights  on  this  side  of  La  Montaigne,  I 
knew,  would  serve.  What  I  did,  Walter,  was 
merely  to  talk  into  the  mouthpiece  back  of  this 
little  silvered  mirror  which  reflects  light.  The 
vibrations  of  the  voice  caused  a  diaphragm  in  it  to 
vibrate  and  thus  the  beam  of  reflected  light  was 
made  to  pulsate.  In  other  words,  this  little  thing 
is  just  a  simple  apparatus  to  transform  the  air 
vibrations  of  the  voice  into  light  vibrations. 

'  The  parabolic  reflector  over  there  catches  these 
light  vibrations  and  focuses  them  on  the  cell  of 
selenium  which  you  perhaps  noticed  in  the  centre 
of  the  reflector.  You  remember  doubtless  that  the 
element  selenium  varies  its  electrical  resistance  under 


THE  SMUGGLER  319 

light?  Thus  there  are  reproduced  similar  varia- 
tions in  the  cell  to  those  vibrations  here  in  this 
transmitter.  The  cell  is  connected  with  a  telephone 
receiver  and  batteries  over  there — and  there  you 
are.  It  is  very  simple.  In  the  ordinary  carbon 
telephone  transmitter  a  variable  electrical  resistance 
is  produced  by  pressure,  since  carbon  is  not  so  good 
a  conductor  under  pressure.  Then  these  variations 
are  transmitted  along  two  wires.  This  photophone 
is  wireless.  Selenium  even  emits  notes  under  a 
vibratory  beam  of  light,  the  pitch  depending  on  the 
frequency.  Changes  in  the  intensity  of  the  light 
focused  by  the  reflector  on  the  cell  alter  its  electrical 
resistance  and  vary  the  current  from  the  dry  bat- 
teries. Hence  the  telephone  receiver  over  there  is 
affected.  Bell  used  the  photophone  or  radiophone 
over  several  hundred  feet,  Ruhmer  over  several 
miles.  When  you  thought  I  was  talking  to  myself 
I  was  really  telling  Herndon  what  had  happened 
and  what  to  do — talking  to  him  literally  over  a 
beam  of  light." 

I  could  scarcely  believe  it,  but  an  exclamation  from 
Kennedy  as  he  drew  his  head  in  quickly  recalled 
my  attention.  "  Look  out  on  the  river,  Walter," 
he  cried.  "  The  Mohican  has  her  searchlight 
sweeping  up  and  down.  What  do  you  see?" 

The  long  finger  of  light  had  now  come  to  rest. 
In  its  pathway  I  saw  a  lightless  motor-boat  bobbing 
up  and  down,  crowding  on  all  speed,  yet  followed 
relentlessly  by  the  accusing  finger.  The  river  front 
was  now  alive  with  shouting. 

Suddenly  the  Mohican  shot  out  from  behind  the 


320  THE  POISONED  PEN 

pier  where  she  had  been  hidden.  In  spite  of  Lang's 
expertness  it  was  an  unequal  race.  Nor  would  it 
have  made  much  difference  if  it  had  been  otherwise, 
for  a  shot  rang  out  from  the  Mohican  which  com- 
manded instant  respect.  The  powerful  revenue 
cutter  rapidly  overhauled  the  little  craft. 

A  hurried  tread  down  the  passageway  followed. 
Cases  were  being  shoved  aside  and  a  key  in  the 
door  of  our  compartment  turned  quickly.  I  waited 
with  clenched  fists,  prepared  for  an  attack. 

'You're  all  right?"  Herndon's  voice  inquired 
anxiously.  "  We've  got  that  steward  and  the  other 
fellows  all  right." 

'  Yes,  come  on,"  shouted  Craig.  "  The  cutter 
has  made  a  capture." 

We  had  reached  the  stern  of  the  ship,  and  far 
out  in  the  river  the  Mohican  was  now  headed  to- 
ward us.  She  came  alongside,  and  Herndon  quickly 
seized  a  rope,  fastened  it  to  the  rail,  and  let  himself 
down  to  the  deck  of  the  cutter.  Kennedy  and  I 
followed. 

'  This  is  a  high-handed  proceeding,"  I  heard  a 
voice  that  must  have  been  Lang's  protesting.  "  By 
what  right  do  you  stop  me?  You  shall  suffer  for 
this." 

"  The  Mohican,"  broke  in  Herndon,  "  has  the 
right  to  appear  anywhere  from  Southshoal  Light- 
ship off  Nantucket  to  the  capes  of  the  Delaware, 
demand  an  inspection  of  any  vessel's  manifest  and 
papers,  board  anything  from  La  Montaigne  to  your 
little  motor-boat,  inspect  it,  seize  it,  if  necessary 
put  a  crew  on  it."  He  slapped  the  little  cannon. 


'  That  commands  respect.  Besides,  you  were  vio- 
lating the  regulations — no  lights." 

On  the  deck  of  the  cutter  now  lay  four  cases.  A 
man  broke  one  of  them  open,  then  another.  Inside 
he  disclosed  thousands  of  dollars'  worth  of  finery, 
while  from  a  tray  he  drew  several  large  chamois 
bags  of  glittering  diamonds  and  pearls. 

Pierre  looked  on,  crushed,  all  his  jauntiness  gone. 

"  So,"  exclaimed  Kennedy,  facing  him,  "  you  have 
your  jilted  fiancee,  Mademoiselle  Violette,  to  thank 
for  this — her  letters  and  her  suicide.  It  wasn't  as 
easy  as  you  thought  to  throw  her  over  for  a  new 
soul  mate,  this  Mademoiselle  Gabrielle  whom  you 
were  going  to  set  up  as  a  rival  in  business  to  Violette. 
Violette  has  her  revenge  for  making  a  plaything  of 
her  heart,  and  if  the  dead  can  take  any  satisfaction 
she " 

With  a  quick  movement  Kennedy  anticipated  a 
motion  of  Pierre's.  The  ruined  smuggler  had  con- 
templated either  an  attack  on  himself  or  his  captor, 
but  Craig  had  seized  him  by  the  wrist  and  ground 
his  knuckles  into  the  back  of  Pierre's  clenched  fist 
until  he  winced  with  pain.  An  Apache  dagger  sim- 
ilar to  that  which  the  little  modiste  had  used  to  end 
her  life  tragedy  clattered  to  the  deck  of  the  ship,  a 
mute  testimonial  to  the  high  class  of  society  Pierre 
and  his  associates  must  have  cultivated. 

"  None  of  that,  Pierre,"  Craig  muttered,  releas- 
ing him.  **  You  can't  cheat  the  government  out 
of  its  just  dues  even  in  the  matter  of  punishment." 


XI 
(THE  INVISIBLE  RAY 

"  I  WON'T  deny  that  I  had  some  expectations  from 
the  old  man  myself." 

Kennedy's  client  was  speaking  in  a  low,  full- 
chested,  vibrating  voice,  with  some  emotion,  so  low 
that  I  had  entered  the  room  without  being  aware 
that  any  one  was  there  until  it  was  too  late  to 
retreat. 

"  As  his  physician  for  over  twelve  years,"  the 
man  pursued,  "  I  certainly  had  been  led  to  hope  to 
be  remembered  in  his  will.  But,  Professor  Ken- 
nedy, I  can't  put  it  too  strongly  when  I  say  that 
there  is  no  selfish  motive  in  my  coming  to  you  about 
the  case.  There  is  something  wrong — depend  on 
that." 

Craig  had  glanced  up  at  me  and,  as  I  hesitated, 
I  could  see  in  an  instant  that  the  speaker  was  a 
practitioner  of  a  type  that  is  rapidly  passing  away, 
the  old-fashioned  family  doctor. 

"  Dr.  Burnham,  I  should  like  to  have  you  know 
Mr.  Jameson,"  introduced  Craig.  "  You  can  talk 
as  freely  before  him  as  you  have  to  me  alone.  We 
always  work  together." 

I  shook  hands  with  the  visitor. 
'  The   doctor   has   succeeded   in   interesting  me 
greatly  in  a  case  which  has  some  unique  features," 
Kennedy  explained.     "  It  has  to  do  with  Stephen 

322 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  323 

Haswell,  the  eccentric  old  millionaire  of  Brooklyn. 
Have  you  ever  heard  of  him?" 

'  Yes,  indeed,"  I  replied,  recalling  an  occasional 
article  which  had  appeared  in  the  newspapers  re- 
garding a  dusty  and  dirty  old  house  in  that  part 
of  the  Heights  in  Brooklyn  whence  all  that  is 
fashionable  had  not  yet  taken  flight,  a  house  of 
mystery,  yet  not  more  mysterious  than  its  owner 
in  his  secretive  comings  and  goings  in  the  affairs 
of  men  of  a  generation  beyond  his  time.  Further 
than  the  facts  that  he  was  reputed  to  be  very  wealthy 
and  led,  in  the  heart  of  a  great  city,  what  was  as 
nearly  like  the  life  of  a  hermit  as  possible,  I  knew 
little  or  nothing.  u  What  has  he  been  doing  now?  " 
I  asked. 

"  About  a  week  ago,"  repeated  the  doctor,  in 
answer  to  a  nod  of  encouragement  from  Kennedy, 
"  I  was  summoned  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to 
attend  Mr.  Haswell,  who,  as  I  have  been  telling  Pro- 
fessor Kennedy,  had  been  a  patient  of  mine  for  over 
twelve  years.  He  had  been  suddenly  stricken  with 
total  blindness.  Since  then  he  appears  to  be  failing 
fast,  that  is,  he  appeared  so  the  last  time  I  saw 
him,  a  few  days  ago,  after  I  had  been  superseded 
by  a  younger  man.  It  is  a  curious  case  and  I  have 
thought  about  it  a  great  deal.  But  I  didn't  like 
to  speak  to  the  authorities;  there  wasn't  enough  to 
warrant  that,  and  I  should  have  been  laughed  out 
of  court  for  my  pains.  The  more  I  have  thought 
about  it,  however,  the  more  I  have  felt  it  my  duty 
to  say  something  to  somebody,  and  so,  having  heard 
of  Professor  Kennedy,  I  decided  to  consult  him. 


THE  POISONED  PEN 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  very  much  fear  that 
there  are  circumstances  which  will  bear  sharp  look- 
ing into,  perhaps  a  scheme  to  get  control  of  the 
old  man's  fortune." 

The  doctor  paused,  and  Craig  inclined  his  head, 
as  much  as  to  signify  his  appreciation  of  the  delicate 
position  in  which  Burnham  stood  in  the  case.  Be- 
fore the  doctor  could  proceed  further,  Kennedy 
handed  me  a  letter  which  had  been  lying  before  him 
on  the  table.  It  had  evidently  been  torn  into  small 
pieces  and  then  carefully  pasted  together. 

The  superscription  gave  a  small  town  in  Ohio 
and  a  date  about  a  fortnight  previous. 

Dear  Father  [it  read]  :  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me 
for  writing,  but  I  cannot  let  the  occasion  of  your  seventy- 
fifth  birthday  pass  without  a  word  of  affection  and  con- 
gratulation. I  am  alive  and  well — Time  has  dealt  leniently 
with  me  in  that  respect,  if  not  in  money  matters.  I  do  not 
say  this  in  the  hope  of  reconciling  you  to  me.  I  know  that 
is  impossible  after  all  these  cruel  years.  But  I  do  wish 
that  I  could  see  you  again.  Remember,  I  am  your  only 
child  and  even  if  you  still  think  I  have  been  a  foolish  one, 
please  let  me  come  to  see  you  once  before  it  is  too  late.  We 
are  constantly  travelling  from  place  to  place,  but  shall  be 
here  for  a  few  days. 

Your  loving  daughter, 

GRACE  HASWELL  MARTIN. 

"  Some  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ago,"  explained 
the  doctor  as  I  looked  up  from  reading  the  note, 
"  Mr.  Haswell's  only  daughter  eloped  with  an  artist 
named  Martin.  He  had  been  engaged  to  paint  a 
portrait  of  the  late  Mrs.  Haswell  from  a  photo- 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  325 

graph.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Grace  Haswell 
had  ever  been  able  to  find  expression  for  the  artistic 
yearning  which  had  always  been  repressed  by  the 
cold,  practical  sense  of  her  father.  She  remem- 
bered her  mother  perfectly  since  the  sad  bereave- 
ment of  her  girlhood  and  naturally  she  watched  and 
helped  the  artist  eagerly.  The  result  was  a  por- 
trait which  might  well  have  been  painted  from  the 
subject  herself  rather  than  from  a  cold  photograph. 

"  Haswell  saw  the  growing  intimacy  of  his  daugh- 
ter and  the  artist.  His  bent  of  mind  was  solely 
toward  money  and  material  things,  and  he  at  once 
conceived  a  bitter  and  unreasoning  hatred  for  Mar- 
tin, who,  he  believed,  had  '  schemed '  to  capture  his 
daughter  and  an  easy  living.  Art  was  as  foreign 
to  his  nature  as  possible.  Nevertheless  they  went 
ahead  and  married,  and,  well,  it  resulted  in  the  old 
man  disinheriting  the  girl.  The  young  couple  dis- 
appeared bravely  to  make  their  way  by  their  chosen 
profession  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  have  never  been 
heard  from  since  until  now.  Haswell  made  a  new 
will  and  I  have  always  understood  that  practically 
all  of  his  fortune  is  to  be  devoted  to  founding  the 
technology  department  in  a  projected  university  of 
Brooklyn." 

"  You  have  never  seen  this  Mrs.  Martin  or  her 
husband?  "  asked  Kennedy. 

"  No,  never.  But  in  some  way  she  must  have 
learned  that  I  had  some  influence  with  her  father, 
for  she  wrote  to  me  not  long  ago,  enclosing  a  note 
for  him  and  asking  me  to  intercede  for  her.  I  did 
so.  I  took  the  letter  to  him  as  diplomatically  as 


326  THE  POISONED  PEN 

I  could.  The  old  man  flew  into  a  towering  rage, 
refused  even  to  look  at  the  letter,  tore  it  up  into 
bits,  and  ordered  me  never  to  mention  the  subject 
to  him  again.  That  is  her  note,  which  I  saved. 
However,  it  is  the  sequel  about  which  I  wish  your 
help." 

The  physician  folded  up  the  patched  letter  care- 
fully before  he  continued.  "  Mr.  Haswell,  as  you 
perhaps  know,  has  for  many  years  been  a  prominent 
figure  in  various  curious  speculations,  or  rather  in 
loaning  money  to  many  curious  speculators.  It  is 
not  necessary  to  go  into  the  different  schemes  which 
he  has  helped  to  finance.  Even  though  most  of 
them  have  been  unknown  to  the  public  they  have 
certainly  given  him  such  a  reputation  that  he  is 
much  sought  after  by  inventors. 

"  Not  long  ago  Haswell  became  interested  in 
the  work  of  an  obscure  chemist  over  in  Brooklyn, 
Morgan  Prescott.  Prescott  claims,  as  I  under- 
stand, to  be  able  to  transmute  copper  into  gold. 
Whatever  you  think  of  it  offhand,  you  should  visit 
his  laboratory  yourselves,  gentlemen.  I  am  told  it 
is  wonderful,  though  I  have  never  seen  it  and  can't 
explain  it.  I  have  met  Prescott  several  times  while 
he  was  trying  to  persuade  Mr.  Haswell  to  back  him 
in  his  scheme,  but  he  was  never  disposed  to  talk 
to  me,  for  I  had  no  money  to  invest.  So  far  as  I 
know  about  it  the  thing  sounds  scientific  and  plausi- 
ble enough.  I  leave  you  to  judge  of  that.  It  is 
only  an  incident  in  my  story  and  I  will  pass  over 
it  quickly.  Prescott,  then,  believes  that  the  elements 
are  merely  progressive  variations  of  an  original 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  327 

substance  or  base  called  '  protyle,'  from  which  every- 
thing is  derived.  But  this  fellow  Prescott  goes 
much  further  than  any  of  the  former  theorists. 
He  does  not  stop  with  matter.  He  believes  that 
he  has  the  secret  of  life  also,  that  he  can  make  the 
transition  from  the  inorganic  to  the  organic,  from 
inert  matter  to  living  protoplasm,  and  thence  from 
living  protoplasm  to  mind  and  what  we  call  soul, 
whatever  that  may  be." 

"  And  here  is  where  the  weird  and  uncanny  part 
of  it  comes  in,"  commented  Craig,  turning  from  the 
doctor  to  me  to  call  my  attention  particularly  to 
what  was  about  to  follow. 

"  Having  arrived  at  the  point  where  he  asserts 
that  he  can  create  and  destroy  matter,  life,  and 
mind,"  continued  the  doctor,  as  if  himself  fasci- 
nated by  the  idea,  "  Prescott  very  naturally  does 
not  have  to  go  far  before  he  also  claims  a  control 
over  telepathy  and  even  a  communication  with  the 
dead.  He  even  calls  the  messages  which  he  re- 
ceives by  a  word  which  he  has  coined  himself,  '  tel- 
epagrams.'  Thus  he  says  he  has  unified  the  phys- 
ical, the  physiological,  and  the  psychical — a  system 
of  absolute  scientific  monism." 

The  doctor  paused  again,  then  resumed.  "  One 
afternoon,  about  a  week  ago,  apparently,  as  far  as 
I  am  able  to  piece  together  the  story,  Prescott  was 
demonstrating  his  marvellous  discovery  of  the  unity 
of  nature.  Suddenly  he  faced  Mr.  Haswell. 

"'Shall  I  tell  you  a  fact,  sir,  about  yourself?' 
he  asked  quickly.  '  The  truth  as  I  see  it  by  means 
of  my  wonderful  invention?  If  it  is  the  truth,  will 


328  THE  POISONED  PEN 

you  believe  in  me?  Will  you  put  money  into  my 
invention?  Will  you  share  in  becoming  fabulously 
rich?' 

"  Haswell  made  some  noncommittal  answer. 
But  Prescott  seemed  to  look  into  the  machine 
through  a  very  thick  plate-glass  window,  with  Has- 
well placed  directly  before  it.  He  gave  a  cry. 

*  Mr.  Haswell,'  he  exclaimed,  '  I  regret  to  tell  you 
what  I  see.     You  have  disinherited  your  daughter; 
she  has  passed  out  of  your  life  and  at  the  present 
moment  you  do  not  know  where  she  is.' 

'  That's  true,'  replied  the  old  man  bitterly,  *  and 
more  than  that  I  don't  care.  Is  that  all  you  see? 
[That's  nothing  new.' 

'  No,  unfortunately,  that  is  not  all  I  see.  Can 
you  bear  something  further?  I  think  you  ought 
to  know  it.  I  have  here  a  most  mysterious  tele- 
pagram.' 

'  Yes.     What  is  it?     Is  she  dead?  ' 

'  No,  it  is  not  about  her.  It  is  about  yourself. 
To-night  at  midnight  or  perhaps  a  little  later,'  re- 
peated Prescott  solemnly,  *  you  will  lose  your  sight 
as  a  punishment  for  your  action.' 

*  Pouf !  '  exclaimed  the  old  man  in  a  dudgeon, 

*  if  that  is  all  your  invention  can  tell  me,  good-bye. 
You  told  me  you  were  able  to  make  gold.     Instead, 
you  make  foolish  prophecies.     I'll  put  no  money 
into  such  tomfoolery.     I'm  a  practical  man,'  and 
with  that  he  stamped  out  of  the  laboratory. 

'  Well,  that  night,  about  one  o'clock,  in  the  silence 
of  the  lonely  old  house,  the  aged  caretaker,  Jane, 
whom  he  had  hired  after  he  banished  his  daughter 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  329 

from  his  life,  heard  a  wild  shout  of  '  Help !  Helpl ' 
Haswell,  alone  in  his  room  on  the  second  floor,  was 
groping  about  in  the  dark. 

"  *  Jane,'  he  ordered,  '  a  light — a  light.' 

"  '  I  have  lighted  the  gas,  Mr.  Haswell,'  she 
cried. 

"  A  groan  followed.  He  had  himself  found  a 
match,  had  struck  it,  had  even  burnt  his  fingers 
with  it,  yet  he  saw  nothing. 

1  The  blow  had  fallen.  At  almost  the  very  hour 
which  Prescott,  by  means  of  his  weird  telepagram 
had  predicted,  old  Haswell  was  stricken. 

"  '  I'm  blind,'  he  gasped.  '  Send  for  Dr.  Burn- 
ham.' 

"  I  went  to  him  immediately  when  the  maid  roused 
me,  but  there  was  nothing  I  could  do  except  pre- 
scribe perfect  rest  for  his  eyes  and  keeping  in  a 
dark  room  in  the  hope  that  his  sight  might  be  re- 
stored as  suddenly  and  miraculously  as  it  had  been 
taken  away. 

"  The  next  morning,  with  his  own  hand,  trem- 
bling and  scrawling  in  his  blindness,  he  wrote  the 
following  on  a  piece  of  paper: 

"  'MRS.  GRACE  MARTIN. — Information  wanted  about  the 
present  whereabouts  of  Mrs.  Grace  Martin,  formerly  Grace 
Haswell  of  Brooklyn. 

STEPHEN  HASWELL, 
Pierrepont  St.,  Brooklyn. 

"  This  advertisement  he  caused  to  be  placed  in 
all  the  New  York  papers  and  to  be  wired  to  the 
leading  Western  papers.  Haswell  himself  was  a 


330  THE  POISONED  PEN 

changed  man  after  his  experience.  He  spoke  bit- 
terly of  Prescott,  yet  his  attitude  toward  his  daugh- 
ter was  completely  reversed.  Whether  he  admitted 
to  himself  a  belief  in  the  prediction  of  the  inventor, 
I  do  not  know.  Certainly  he  scouted  such  an  idea 
in  telling  me  about  it. 

"  A  day  or  two  after  the  advertisements  appeared 
a  telegram  came  to  the  old  man  from  a  little  town 
in  Indiana.  It  read  simply:  '  Dear  Father:  Am 
starting  for  Brooklyn  to-day.  Grace.' 

"  The  upshot  was  that  Grace  Haswell,  or  rather 
Grace  Martin,  appeared  the  next  day,  forgave  and 
was  forgiven  with  much  weeping,  although  the  old 
man  still  refused  resolutely  to  be  reconciled  with 
and  receive  her  husband.  Mrs.  Martin  started  in 
to  clean  up  the  old  house.  A  vacuum  cleaner  sucked 
a  ton  or  two  of  dust  from  it.  Everything  was 
changed.  Jane  grumbled  a  great  deal,  but  there 
was  no  doubt  a  great  improvement.  Meals  were 
served  regularly.  The  old  man  was  taken  care  of 
as  never  before.  Nothing  was  too  good  for  him. 
Everywhere  the  touch  of  a  woman  was  evident  in 
the  house.  The  change  was  complete.  It  even 
extended  to  me.  Some  friend  had  told  her  of  an 
eye  and  ear  specialist,  a  Dr.  Scott,  who  was  en- 
gaged. Since  then,  I  understand,  a  new  will  has 
been  made,  much  to  the  chagrin  of  the  trustees  of 
the  projected  school.  Of  course  I  am  cut  out  of 
the  new  will,  and  that  with  the  knowledge  at  least 
of  the  woman  who  once  appealed  to  me,  but  it 
does  not  influence  me  in  coming  to  you." 

"  But  what  has  happened  since  to   arouse  sus- 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  331 

picion?"    asked    Kennedy,    watching    the    doctor 
furtively. 

'  Why,  the  fact  is  that,  in  spite  of  all  this  added 
care,  the  old  man  is  failing  more  rapidly  than  ever. 
He  never  goes  out  except  attended  and  not  much 
even  then.  The  other  day  I  happened  to  meet 
Jane  on  the  street.  The  faithful  old  soul  poured 
forth  a  long  story  about  his  growing  dependence 
on  others  and  ended  by  mentioning  a  curious  red 
.discoloration  that  seems  to  have  broken  out  over 
his  face  and  hands.  More  from  the  way  she  said 
it  than  from  what  she  said  I  gained  the  impression 
that  something  was  going  on  which  should  be  looked 
into." 

"  Then  you  perhaps  think  that  Prescott  and  Mrs. 
Martin  are  in  some  way  connected  in  this  case?  " 
I  hazarded. 

I  had  scarcely  framed  the  question  before  he 
replied  in  an  emphatic  negative.  "  On  the  contrary, 
it  seems  to  me  that  if  they  know  each  other  at  all 
it  is  with  hostility.  With  the  exception  of  the  first 
stroke  of  blindness  " — here  he  lowered  his  voice 
earnestly — "  practically  every  misfortune  that  has 
overtaken  Mr.  Haswell  has  been  since  the  advent 
of  this  new  Dr.  Scott.  Mind,  I  do  not  wish  even 
to  breathe  that  Mrs.  Martin  has  done  anything 
except  what  a  daughter  should  do.  I  think  she  has 
shown  herself  a  model  of  forgiveness  and  devotion. 
Nevertheless  the  turn  of  events  under  the  new  treat-, 
ment  has  been  so  strange  that  almost  it  makes  one 
believe  that  there  might  be  something  occult  about 
it — or  wrong  with  the  new  doctor." 


332  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Would  it  be  possible,  do  you  think,  for  us  to 
see  Mr.  Haswell?"  asked  Kennedy,  when  Dr. 
Burnham  had  come  to  a  full  stop  after  pouring  forth 
his  suspicions.  "  I  should  like  to  see  this  Dr.  Scott. 
But  first  I  should  like  to  get  into  the  old  house  with- 
out exciting  hostility." 

The  doctor  was  thoughtful.  "  You'll  have  to 
arrange  that  yourself,"  he  answered.  "  Can't  you 
think  up  a  scheme?  For  instance,  go  to  him  with 
a  proposal  like  the  old  schemes  he  used  to  finance. 
He  is  very  much  interested  in  electrical  inventions. 
He  made  his  money  by  speculation  in  telegraphs 
and  telephones  in  the  early  days  when  they  were 
more  or  less  dreams.  I  should  think  a  wireless 
system  of  television  might  at  least  interest  him  and 
furnish  an  excuse  for  getting  in,  although  I  am  told 
his  daughter  discourages  all  tangible. investment  in 
the  schemes  that  used  to  interest  his  active  mind." 

"  An  excellent  idea,"  exclaimed  Kennedy.  "  It 
is  worth  trying  anyway.  It  is  still  early.  Suppose 
we  ride  over  to  Brooklyn  with  you.  You  can  direct 
us  to  the  house  and  we'll  try  to  see  him." 

It  was  still  light  when  we  mounted  the  high  steps 
of  the  house  of  mystery  across  the  bridge.  Mrs. 
Martin,  who  met  us  in  the  parlour,  proved  to  be  a 
stunning  looking  woman  with  brown  hair  and  beauti- 
ful dark  eyes.  As  far  as  we  could  see  the  old  house 
plainly  showed  the  change.  The  furniture  and  or- 
naments were  of  a  period  long  past,  but  everything 
was  scrupulously  neat.  Hanging  over  the  old 
marble  mantel  was  a  painting  which  quite  evidently 
was  that  of  the  long  since  deceased  Mrs.  Haswell, 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  333 

the  mother  of  Grace.  In  spite  of  the  hideous  style 
of  dress  of  the  period  after  the  war,  she  had  evi- 
dently been  a  very  beautiful  woman  with  large 
masses  of  light  chestnut  hair  and  blue  eyes  which 
the  painter  had  succeeded  in  catching  with  almost 
life-likeness  for  a  portrait. 

It  took  only  a  few  minutes  for  Kennedy,  in  his 
most  engaging  and  plausible  manner,  to  state  the 
hypothetical  reason  of  our  call.  Though  it  was 
perfectly  self-evident  from  the  start  that  Mrs.  Mar- 
tin would  throw  cold  water  on  anything  requiring 
an  outlay  of  money  Craig  accomplished  his  full  pur- 
pose of  securing  an  interview  with  Mr.  Haswell. 
[The  invalid  lay  propped  up  in  bed,  and  as  we  en- 
tered he  heard  us  and  turned  his  sightless  eyes  in 
our  direction  almost  as  if  he  saw. 

Kennedy  had  hardly  begun  to  repeat  and  elab- 
orate the  story  which  he  had  already  told  regarding 
his  mythical  friend  who  had  at  last  a  commercial 
wireless  "  televue,"  as  he  called  it  on  the  spur  of 
the  moment,  when  Jane,  the  aged  caretaker,  an- 
nounced Dr.  Scott.  The  new  doctor  was  a  youth- 
fully dressed  man,  clean-shaven,  but  with  an  unde- 
finable  air  of  being  much  older  than  his  smooth  face 
led  one  to  suppose.  As  he  had  a  large  practice, 
he  said,  he  would  beg  our  pardon  for  interrupting 
but  would  not  take  long. 

It  needed  no  great  powers  of  observation  to  see 
that  the  old  man  placed  great  reliance  on  his  new 
doctor  and  that  the  visit  partook  of  a  social  as 
well  as  a  professional  nature.  Although  they  talked 
low  we  could  catch  now  and  then  a  word  or  phrase. 


334  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Dr.  Scott  bent  down  and  examined  the  eyes  of  his 
patient  casually.  It  was  difficult  to  believe  that 
they  saw  nothing,  so  bright  was  the  blue  of  the 
iris. 

"  Perfect  rest  for  the  present,"  the  doctor 
directed,  talking  more  to  Mrs.  Martin  than  to  the 
old  man.  "  Perfect  rest,  and  then  when  his  health 
is  good,  we  shall  see  what  can  be  done  with  that 
cataract" 

He  was  about  to  leave,  when  the  old  man  reached 
up  and  restrained  him,  taking  hold  of  the  doctor's 
wrist  tightly,  as  if  to  pull  him  nearer  in  order  to 
whisper  to  him  without  being  overheard.  Kennedy 
was  sitting  in  a  chair  near  the  head  of  the  bed, 
some  feet  away,  as  the  doctor  leaned  down.  Has- 
well,  still  holding  his  wrist,  pulled  him  closer.  I 
could  not  hear  what  was  said,  though  somehow  I 
had  an  impression  that  they  were  talking  about 
Prescott,  for  it  would  not  have  been  at  all  strange 
if  the  old  man  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  the 
alchemist. 

Kennedy,  I  noticed,  had  pulled  an  old  envelope 
from  his  pocket  and  was  apparently  engaged  in 
jotting  down  some  notes,  glancing  now  and  then 
from  his  writing  to  the  doctor  and  then  to  Mr. 
Haswell. 

The  doctor  stood  erect  in  a  few  moments  and 
rubbed  his  wrist  thoughtfully  with  the  other  hand, 
as  if  it  hurt.  At  the  same  time  he  smiled  on  Mrs. 
Martin.  *  Your  father  has  a  good  deal  of  strength 
yet,  Mrs.  Martin,"  he  remarked.  "  He  has  a  won- 
derful constitution.  I  feel  sure  that  we  can  pull 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  335 

him  out  of  this  and  that  he  has  many,  many  years 
to  live." 

Mr.  Haswell,  who  caught  the  words  eagerly, 
brightened  visibly,  and  the  doctor  passed  out.  Ken- 
nedy resumed  his  description  of  the  supposed  wire- 
less picture  apparatus  which  was  to  revolutionise 
the  newspaper,  the  theatre,  and  daily  life  in  general. 
The  old  man  did  not  seem  enthusiastic  and  turned 
to  his  daughter  with  some  remark. 

"  Just  at  present,"  commented  the  daughter,  with 
an  air  of  finality,  "  the  only  thing  my  father  is  much 
interested  in  is  a  way  in  which  to  recover  his  sight 
without  an  operation.  He  has  just  had  a  rather 
unpleasant  experience  with  one  inventor.  I  think 
it  will  be  some  time  before  he  cares  to  embark  in 
any  other  such  schemes." 

Kennedy  and  I  excused  ourselves  with  appropriate 
remarks  of  disappointment.  From  his  preoccupied 
manner  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  guess  whether 
Craig  had  accomplished  his  purpose  or  not. 

"  Let  us  drop  in  on  Dr.  Burnham  since  we  are 
over  here,"  he  said  when  we  had  reached  the  street. 
"  I  have  some  questions  to  ask  him." 

The  former  physician  of  Mr.  Haswell  lived  not 
very  far  from  the  house  we  had  just  left.  He 
appeared  a  little  surprised  to  see  us  so  soon,  but 
very  interested  in  what  had  taken  place. 

"Who  is  this  Dr.  Scott?"  asked  Craig  when 
we  were  seated  in  the  comfortable  leather  chairs 
of  the  old-fashioned  consulting-room. 

"  Really,  I  know  no  more  about  him  than  you 
"do,"  replied  Burnham.  I  thought  I  detected  a  little 


336  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  professional  jealousy  in  his  tone,  though  he  went 
on  frankly  enough,  "  I  have  made  inquiries  and  I 
can  find  out  nothing  except  that  he  is  supposed  to 
be  a  graduate  of  some  Western  medical  school  and 
came  to  this  city  only  a  short  time  ago.  He  has 
hired  a  small  office  in  a  new  building  devoted  en- 
tirely to  doctors  and  they  tell  me  that  he  is  an  eye 
and  ear  specialist,  though  I  cannot  see  that  he  has 
any  practice.  Beyond  that  I  know  nothing  about 
him." 

"  Your  friend  Prescott  interests  me,  too,"  re- 
marked Kennedy,  changing  the  subject  quickly. 

"  Oh,  he  is  no  friend  of  mine,"  returned  the 
doctor,  fumbling  in  a  drawer  of  his  desk.  "  But  I 
think  I  have  one  of  his  cards  here  which  he  gave 
me  when  we  were  introduced  some  time  ago  at 
Mr.  Haswell's.  I  should  think  it  would  be  worth 
while  to  see  him.  Although  he  has  no  use  for  me 
because  I  have  neither  money  nor  influence,  still  you 
might  take  this  card.  Tell  him  you  are  from  the 
university,  that  I  have  interested  you  in  him,  that 
you  know  a  trustee  with  money  to  invest — anything 
you  like  that  is  plausible.  When  are  you  going  to 
see  him?  " 

'  The  first  thing  in  the  morning,"  replied  Ken- 
nedy. "  After  I  have  seen  him  I  shall  drop  in  for 
another  chat  with  you.  Will  you  be  here?  " 

The  doctor  promised,  and  we  took  our  departure. 

Prescott's  laboratory,  which  we  found  the  next 
day  from  the  address  on  the  card,  proved  to  be  situ- 
ated in  one  of  the  streets  near  the  waterfront  under 
the  bridge  approach,  where  the  factories  and  ware- 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  337 

houses  clustered  thickly.  It  was  with  a  great  deal 
of  anticipation  of  seeing  something  happen  that  we 
threaded  our  way  through  the  maze  of  streets  with 
the  cobweb  structure  of  the  bridge  carrying  its  end- 
less succession  of  cars  arching  high  over  our  heads. 
We  had  nearly  reached  the  place  when  Kennedy 
paused  and  pulled  out  two  pairs  of  glasses,  those 
huge  round  tortoiseshell  affairs. 

"  You  needn't  mind  these,  Walter/'  he  explained. 
"  They  are  only  plain  glass,  that  is,  not  ground. 
You  can  see  through  them  as  well  as  through  air. 
We  must  be  careful  not  to  excite  suspicion.  Per- 
haps a  disguise  might  have  been  better,  but  I  think 
this  will  do.  There — they  add  at  least  a  decade  to 
your  age.  If  you  could  see  yourself  you  wouldn't 
speak  to  your  reflection.  You  look  as  scholarly  as 
a  Chinese  mandarin.  Remember,  let  me  do  the 
talking  and  do  just  as  I  do." 

We  had  now  entered  the  shop,  stumbled  up  the 
dark  stairs,  and  presented  Dr.  Burnham's  card  with 
a  word  of  explanation  along  the  lines  which  he  had 
suggested.  Prescott,  surrounded  by  his  retorts, 
crucibles,  burettes,  and  condensers,  received  us 
much  more  graciously  than  I  had  had  any  reason 
to  anticipate.  He  was  a  man  in  the  late  forties, 
his  face  covered  with  a  thick  beard,  and  his  eyes, 
which  seemed  a  little  weak,  were  helped  out  with 
glasses  almost  as  scholarly  as  ours. 

I  could  not  help  thinking  that  we  three  bespec- 
tacled figures  lacked  only  the  flowing  robes  to  be 
taken  for  a  group  of  mediaeval  alchemists  set  down 
a  few  centuries  out  of  our  time  in  the  murky  light 


338  THE  POISONED  PEN 

of  Prescott's  sanctum.  Yet,  though  he  accepted  us 
at  our  face  value,  and  began  to  talk  of  his  strange 
discoveries  there  was  none  of  the  old  familiar  prat- 
ing about  matrix  and  flux,  elixir,  magisterium,  mag- 
num  opus,  the  mastery  and  the  quintessence,  those 
alternate  names  for  the  philosopher's  stone  which 
Paracelsus,  Simon  Forman,  Jerome  Cardan,  and  the 
other  mediaeval  worthies  indulged  in.  This  experi- 
ence at  least  was  as  up-to-date  as  the  Curies,  Bec- 
querel,  Ramsay,  and  the  rest. 

"  Transmutation,"  remarked  Prescott,  "  was,  as 
you  know,  finally  declared  to  be  a  scientific  absurdity 
in  the  eighteenth  century.  But  I  may  say  that  it 
is  no  longer  so  regarded.  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
believe  anything  until  you  have  seen;  all  I  ask  is 
that  you  maintain  the  same  open  mind  which  the 
most  progressive  scientists  of  to-day  exhibit  in  re- 
gard to  the  subject." 

Kennedy  had  seated  himself  some  distance  from 
a  curious  piece  or  rather  collection  of  apparatus 
over  which  Prescott  was  working.  It  consisted  of 
numerous  coils  and  tubes. 

"  It  may  seem  strange  to  you,  gentlemen,"  Pres- 
cott proceeded,  "  that  a  man  who  is  able  to  produce 
gold  from,  say,  copper  should  be  seeking  capital 
from  other  people.  My  best  answer  to  that  old 
objection  is  that  I  am  not  seeking  capital,  as  such. 
(The  situation  with  me  is  simply  this.  Twice  I  have 
applied  to  the  patent  office  for  a  patent  on  my  in- 
vention. They  not  only  refuse  to  grant  it,  but  they 
refuse  to  consider  the  application  or  even  to  give 
me  a  chance  to  demonstrate  my  process  to  them. 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  339 

On  the  other  hand,  suppose  I  try  this  thing  secretly. 
How  can  I  prevent  any  one  from  learning  my  trade 
secret,  leaving  me,  and  making  gold  on  his  own 
account?  Men  will  desert  as  fast  as  I  educate 
them.  Think  of  the  economic  result  of  that;  it 
would  turn  the  world  topsy-turvy.  I  am  looking 
for  some  one  who  can  be  trusted  to  the  last  limit 
to  join  with  me,  furnish  the  influence  and  standing 
while  I  furnish  the  brains  and  the  invention.  Either 
we  must  get  the  government  interested  and  sell  the 
invention  to  it,  or  we  must  get  government  pro- 
tection and  special  legislation.  I  am  not  seeking 
capital ;  I  am  seeking  protection.  First  let  me  show 
you  something." 

He  turned  a  switch,  and  a  part  of  the  collection 
of  apparatus  began  to  vibrate. 

"  You  are  undoubtedly  acquainted  with  the  mod- 
ern theories  of  matter,"  he  began,  plunging  into  the 
explanation  of  his  process.  "  Starting  with  the 
atom,  we  believe  no  longer  that  it  is  indivisible. 
Atoms  are  composed  of  thousands  of  ions,  as  they 
are  called, — really  little  electric  charges.  Again, 
you  know  that  we  have  found  that  all  the  elements 
fall  into  groups.  Each  group  has  certain  related 
atomic  weights  and  properties  which  can  be  and  have 
been  predicted  in  advance  of  the  discovery  of  miss- 
ing elements  in  the  group.  I  started  with  the 
reasonable  assumption  that  the  atom  of  one  element 
in  a  group  could  be  modified  so  as  to  become  the 
atom  of  another  element  in  the  group,  that  one 
group  could  perhaps  be  transformed  into  another, 
and  so  on,  if  only  I  knew  the  force  that  would 


340  THE  POISONED  PEN 

change  the  number  or  modify  the  vibrations  of  these 
ions  composing  the  various  atoms. 

"  Now  for  years  I  have  been  seeking  that  force 
or  combination  of  forces  that  would  enable  me  to 
produce  this  change  in  the  elements — raising  or 
lowering  them  in  the  scale,  so  to  speak.  I  have 
found  it.  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  or  any  other 
man  whom  you  may  interest  the  secret  of  how  it  is 
done  until  I  find  some  one  I  can  trust  as  I  trust 
myself.  But  I  am  none  the  less  willing  that  you 
should  see  the  results.  If  they  are  not  convincing, 
then  nothing  can  be." 

He  appeared  to  be  debating  whether  to  explain 
further,  and  finally  resumed:  "Matter  thus  being 
in  reality  a  manifestation  of  force  or  ether  in  mo- 
tion, it  is  necessary  to  change  and  control  that  force 
and  motion.  This  assemblage  of  machines  here  is 
for  that  purpose.  Now  a  few  words  as  to  my 
theory." 

He  took  a  pencil  and  struck  a  sharp  blow  on 
the  table.  '  There  you  have  a  single  blow,"  he 
said,  "  just  one  isolated  noise.  Now  if  I  strike 
this  tuning  fork  you  have  a  vibrating  note.  In 
other  words,  a  succession  of  blows  or  wave  vibra- 
tions of  a  certain  kind  affects  the  ear  and  we  call 
it  sound,  just  as  a  succession  of  other  wave  vibra- 
tions affects  the  retina  and  we  have  sight.  If  a 
moving  picture  moves  slower  than  a  certain  number 
of  pictures  a  minute  you  see  the  separate  pictures; 
faster  it  is  one  moving  picture. 

"  Now  as  we  increase  the  rapidity  of  wave  vibra- 
tion and  decrease  the  wave  length  we  pass  from 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  341 

sound  waves  to  heat  waves  or  what  are  known  as 
the  infra-red  waves,  those  which  lie  below  the  red 
in  the  spectrum  of  light.  Next  we  come  to  light, 
which  is  composed  of  the  seven  colours  as  you  know 
from  seeing  them  resolved  in  a  prism.  After  that 
are  what  are  known  as  the  ultra-violet  rays,  which 
lie  beyond  the  violet  of  white  light.  We  also  have 
electric  waves,  the  waves  of  the  alternating  current, 
and  shorter  still  we  find  the  Hertzian  waves,  which 
are  used  in  wireless.  We  have  only  begun  to  know 
of  X-rays  and  the  alpha,  beta,  and  gamma  rays  from 
them,  of  radium,  radioactivity,  and  finally  of  this 
new  force  which  I  have  discovered  and  call  '  pro- 
todyne,'  the  original  force. 

"  In  short,  we  find  in  the  universe  Matter,  Force, 
and  Ether.  Matter  is  simply  ether  in  motion,  is 
composed  of  corpuscles,  electrically  charged  ions, 
or  electrons,  moving  units  of  negative  electricity 
about  one  one-thousandth  part  of  the  hydrogen  atom. 
Matter  is  made  up  of  electricity  and  nothing  but 
electricity.  Let  us  see  what  that  leads  to.  You 
are  acquainted  with  Mendeleeff's  periodic  table?" 

He  drew  forth  a  huge  chart  on  which  all  the 
eighty  or  so  elements  were  arranged  in  eight  groups 
or  octaves  and  twelve  series.  Selecting  one,  he 
placed  his  finger  on  the  letters  "  Au,"  under  which 
was  written  the  number,  197.2.  I  wondered  what 
the  mystic  letters  and  figures  meant. 

"  That,"  he  explained,  "  is  the  scientific  name  for 
the  element  gold  and  the  figure  is  its  atomic  weight. 
You  will  see,"  he  added,  pointing  down  the  second 
vertical  column  on  the  chart,  "  that  gold  belongs 


342  THE  POISONED  PEN 

to  the  hydrogen  group — hydrogen,  lithium,  sodium, 
potassium,  copper,  rubidium,  silver,  caesium,  then 
two  blank  spaces  for  elements  yet  to  be  discovered 
to  science,  then  gold,  and  finally  another  unknown 
element." 

Running  his  finger  along  the  eleventh,  horizontal 
series,  he  continued:  "The  gold  series — not  the 
group — reads  gold,  mercury,  thallium,  lead,  bismuth, 
and  other  elements  known  only  to  myself.  For  the 
known  elements,  however,  these  groups  and  series 
are  now  perfectly  recognised  by  all  scientists;  they 
are  determined  by  the  fixed  weight  of  the  atom,  and 
there  is  a  close  approximation  to  regularity. 

"  This  twelfth  series  is  interesting.  So  far  only 
radium,  thorium,  and  uranium  are  generally  known. 
We  know  that  the  radioactive  elements  are  con- 
stantly breaking  down,  and  one  often  hears  uranium, 
for  instance,  called  the  '  parent '  of  radium.  Ra- 
dium also  gives  off  an  emanation,  and  among  its 
products  is  helium,  quite  another  element.  Thus 
the  transmutation  of  matter  is  well  known  within 
certain  bounds  to  all  scientists  to-day  like  yourself, 
Professor  Kennedy.  It  has  even  been  rumoured 
but  never  proved  that  copper  has  been  transformed 
into  lithium — both  members  of  the  hydrogen-gold 
group,  you  will  observe.  Copper  to  lithium  is  go- 
ing backward,  so  to  speak.  It  has  remained  for 
me  to  devise  this  protodyne  apparatus  by  which  I 
can  reverse  that  process  of  decay  and  go  forward 
in  the  table,  so  to  put  it — can  change  lithium  into 
copper  and  copper  into  gold.  I  can  create  and 
destroy  matter  by  protodyne." 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  343 

He  had  been  fingering  a  switch  as  he  spoke.  Now 
he  turned  it  on  triumphantly.  A  curious  snapping 
and  crackling  noise  followed,  becoming  more  rapid, 
and  as  it  mounted  in  intensity  I  could  smell  a  pun- 
gent odour  of  ozone  which  told  of  an  electric  dis- 
charge. On  went  the  machine  until  we  could  feel 
heat  radiating  from  it.  Then  came  a  piercing  burst 
of  greenish-blue  light  from  a  long  tube  which  looked 
like  a  curious  mercury  vapour  lamp. 

After  a  few  minutes  of  this  Prescott  took  a  small 
crucible  of  black  lead.  "  Now  we  are  ready  to 
try  it,"  he  cried  in  great  excitement.  "  Here  I  have 
a  crucible  containing  some  copper.  Any  substance 
in  the  group  would  do,  even  hydrogen  if  there  was 
any  way  I  could  handle  the  gas.  I  place  it  in  the 
machine — so.  Now  if  you  could  watch  inside  you 
would  see  it  change;  it  is  now  rubidium,  now  silver, 
now  caesium.  Now  it  is  a  hitherto  unknown  ele- 
ment which  I  have  named  after  myself,  presium, 
now  a  second  unknown  element,  cottium — ah ! — there 
we  have  gold." 

He  drew  forth  the  crucible,  and  there  glowed  in 
it  a  little  bead  or  globule  of  molten  gold. 

"  I  could  have  taken  lead  or  mercury  and  by 
varying  the  process  done  the  same  thing  with  the 
gold  series  as  well  as  the  gold  group,"  he  said, 
regarding  the  globule  with  obvious  pride.  "  And  I 
can  put  this  gold  back  and  bring  it  out  copper  or 
hydrogen,  or  better  yet,  can  advance  it  instead  of 
cause  it  to  decay,  and  can  get  a  radioactive  element 
which  I  have  named  morganium — after  my  first 
name,  Morgan  Prescott.  Morganium  is  a  radio- 


344  THE  POISONED  PEN 

active  element  next  in  the  series  to  radium  and 
much  more  active.  Come  closer  and  examine  the 
gold." 

Kennedy  shook  his  head  as  if  perfectly  satisfied 
to  accept  the  result.  As  for  me  I  knew  not  what 
to  think.  It  was  all  so  plausible  and  there  was  the 
bead  of  gold,  too,  that  I  turned  to  Craig  for  en- 
lightenment. Was  he  convinced?  His  face  was 
inscrutable. 

But  as  I  looked  I  could  see  that  Kennedy  had 
been  holding  concealed  in  the  palm  of  his  hand  a 
bit  of  what  might  be  a  mineral.  From  my  position 
I  could  see  the  bit  of  mineral  glowing,  but  Prescott 
could  not. 

"  Might  I  ask,"  interrupted  Kennedy,  "  what  that 
curious  greenish  or  bluish  light  from  the  tube  is 
composed  of?  " 

Prescott  eyed  him  keenly  for  an  instant  through 
his  thick  glasses.  Craig  had  shifted  his  gaze  from 
the  bit  of  mineral  in  his  own  hand,  but  was  not 
looking  at  the  light.  He  seemed  to  be  indifferently 
contemplating  Prescott's  hand  as  it  rested  on  the 
switch. 

l<  That,  sir,"  replied  Prescott  slowly,  "  is  an  ema- 
nation due  to  this  new  force,  protodyne,  which  I 
use.  It  is  a  manifestation  of  energy,  sir,  that  may 
run  changes  not  only  through  the  whole  gamut  of 
the  elements,  but  is  capable  of  transforming  the 
ether  itself  into  matter,  matter  into  life,  and  life 
into  mind.  It  is  the  outward  sign  of  the  unity  of 
nature,  the " 

'  The  means  by  which  you  secure  the  curious 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  345 

telepagrams  I  have  heard  of?  "  inquired  Kennedy 
eagerly. 

Prescott  looked  at  him  sharply,  and  for  a  mo- 
ment I  thought  his  face  seemed  to  change  from  a 
livid  white  to  an  apoplectic  red,  although  it  may 
have  been  only  the  play  of  the  weird  light.  When 
he  spoke  it  was  with  no  show  of  even  suppressed 
surprise. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  calmly.  "I  see  that  you 
have  heard  something  of  them.  I  had  a  curious 
case  a  few  days  ago.  I  had  hoped  to  interest  a 
certain  capitalist  of  high  standing  in  this  city.  I 
had  showed  him  just  what  I  have  showed  you,  and 
I  think  he  was  impressed  by  it.  Then  I  thought  to 
clinch  the  matter  by  a  telepagram,  but  for  some 
reason  or  other  I  failed  to  consult  the  forces  I 
control  as  to  the  wisdom  of  doing  so.  Had  I,  I 
should  have  known  better.  But  I  went  ahead  in 
self-confidence  and  enthusiasm.  I  told  him  of  a 
long  banished  daughter  with  whom,  in  his  heart, 
he  was  really  wishing  to  become  reconciled  but  was 
too  proud  to  say  the  word.  He  resented  it.  He 
started  to  stamp  out  of  this  room,  but  not  before 
I  had  another  telepagram  which  told  of  a  misfortune 
that  was  soon  to  overtake  the  old  man  himself. 
If  he  had  given  me  a  chance  I  might  have  saved  him, 
at  least  have  flashed  a  telepagram  to  that  daughter 
myself,  but  he  gave  me  no  chance.  He  was  gone. 

"  I  do  not  know  precisely  what  happened  after 
that,  but  in  some  way  this  man  found  his  daughter, 
and  to-day  she  is  living  with  him.  As  for  my  hopes 
of  getting  assistance  from  him,  I  lost  them  from 


346  THE  POISONED  PEN 

the  moment  when  I  made  my  initial  mistake  of  tell- 
ing him  something  distasteful.  The  daughter  hates 
me  and  I  hate  her.  I  have  learned  that  she  never 
ceases  advising  the  old  man  against  all  schemes  for 
investment  except  those  bearing  moderate  interest 
and  readily  realised  on.  Dr.  Burnham — I  see  you 
know  him — has  been  superseded  by  another  doctor, 
I  believe.  Well,  well,  I  am  through  with  that  in- 
cident. I  must  get  assistance  from  other  sources. 
The  old  man,  I  think,  would  have  tricked  me  out 
of  the  fruits  of  my  discovery  anyhow.  Perhaps  I 
am  fortunate.  Who  knows?" 

A  knock  at  the  door  cut  him  short.  Prescott 
opened  it,  and  a  messenger  boy  stood  there.  "  Is 
Professor  Kennedy  here?"  he  inquired. 

Craig  motioned  to  the  boy,  signed  for  the  mes- 
sage, and  tore  it  open.  "  It  is  from  Dr.  Burnham," 
he  exclaimed,  handing  the  message  to  me. 

"  Mr.  Haswell  is  dead,"  I  read.  "  Looks  to  me 
like  asphyxiation  by  gas  or  some  other  poison. 
Come  immediately  to  his  house.  Burnham." 

1  You  will  pardon  me,"  broke  in  Craig  to  Pres- 
cott, who  was  regarding  us  without  the  slightest 
trace  of  emotion,  "  but  Mr.  Haswell,  the  old  man 
to  whom  I  know  you  referred,  is  dead,  and  Dr. 
Burnham  wishes  to  see  me  immediately.  It  was 
only  yesterday  that  I  saw  Mr.  Haswell  and  he 
seemed  in  pretty  good  health  and  spirits.  Prescott, 
though  there  was  no  love  lost  between  you  and  the 
old  man,  I  would  esteem  it  a  great  favour  if  you 
would  accompany  me  to  the  house.  You  need  not 
take  any  responsibility  unless  you  desire." 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  347 

His  words  were  courteous  enough,  but  Craig 
spoke  in  a  tone  of  quiet  authority  which  Prescott 
found  it  impossible  to  deny.  Kennedy  had  already 
started  to  telephone  to  his  own  laboratory,  describ- 
ing a  certain  suitcase  to  one  of  his  students  and 
giving  his  directions.  It  was  only  a  moment  later 
that  we  were  panting  up  the  sloping  street  that  led 
from  the  river  front.  In  the  excitement  I  scarcely 
noticed  where  we  were  going  until  we  hurried  up 
the  steps  to  the  Haswell  house. 

The  aged  caretaker  met  us  at  the  door.  She 
was  in  tears.  Upstairs  in  the  front  room  where 
we  had  first  met  the  old  man  we  found  Dr.  Burnham 
working  frantically  over  him.  It  took  only  a  min- 
ute to  learn  what  had  happened.  The  faithful 
Jane  had  noticed  an  odour  of  gas  in  the  hall,  had 
traced  it  to  Mr.  Haswell's  room,  had  found  him 
unconscious,  and  instinctively,  forgetting  the  new 
Dr.  Scott,  had  rushed  forth  for  Dr.  Burnham. 
Near  the  bed  stood  Grace  Martin,  pale  but  anxiously 
watching  the  efforts  of  the  doctor  to  resuscitate  the 
blue-faced  man  who  was  stretched  cold  and  motion- 
less on  the  bed. 

Dr.  Burnham  paused  in  his  efforts  as  we  entered. 
"  He  is  dead,  all  right,"  he  whispered,  aside.  "  I 
have  trfed  everything  I  know  to  bring  him  back, 
but  he  is  beyond  help." 

There  was  still  a  sickening  odour  of  illuminating 
gas  in  the  room,  although  the  windows  were  now 
all  open. 

Kennedy,  with  provoking  calmness  in  the  excite- 
ment, turned  from  and  ignored  Dr.  Burnham. 


348  THE  POISONED  PEN 

"  Have  you  summoned  Dr.  Scott?  "  he  asked  Mrs. 
Martin. 

"  No,"  she  replied,  surprised.  "  Should  I  have 
done  so?  " 

"  Yes.  Send  Jame  immediately.  Mr.  Prescott, 
will  you  kindly  be  seated  for  a  few  moments." 

Taking  off  his  coat,  Kennedy  advanced  to  the  bed 
where  the  emaciated  figure  lay,  cold  and  motion- 
less. Craig  knelt  down  at  Mr.  Haswell's  head 
and  took  the  inert  arms,  raising  them  up  until  they 
were  extended  straight.  Then  he  brought  them 
down,  folded  upward  at  the  elbow  at  the  side. 
Again  and  again  he  tried  this  Sylvester  method  of 
inducing  respiration,  but  with  no  more  result  than 
Dr.  Burnham  had  secured.  He  turned  the  body 
over  on  its  face  and  tried  the  new  Schaefer  method. 
There  seemed  to  be  not  a  spark  of  life  left. 

"  Dr.  Scott  is  out,"  reported  the  maid  breath- 
lessly, "  but  they  are  trying  to  locate  him  from  his 
office,  and  if  they  do  they  will  send  him  around 
immediately." 

A  ring  at  the  doorbell  caused  us  to  think  that 
he  had  been  found,  but  it  proved  to  be  the  student 
to  whom  Kennedy  had  telephoned  at  his  own  labora- 
tory. He  was  carrying  a  heavy  suitcase  and  a 
small  tank. 

Kennedy  opened  the  suitcase  hastily  and  disclosed 
a  little  motor,  some  long  tubes  of  rubber  fitting 
into  a  small  rubber  cap,  forceps,  and  other  parapher- 
nalia. The  student  quickly  attached  one  tube  to 
the  little  tank,  while  Kennedy  grasped  the  tongue 
of  the  dead  man  with  the  forceps,  pulled  it  up  off 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  349 

the  soft  palate,  and  fitted  the  rubber  cap  snugly 
over  his  mouth  and  nose. 

"  This  is  the  Draeger  pulmotor,"  he  explained 
as  he  worked,  "  devised  to  resuscitate  persons  who 
have  died  of  electric  shock,  but  actually  found  to 
be  of  more  value  in  cases  of  asphyxiation.  Start 
the  motor." 

The  pulmotor  began  to  pump.  One  could  see 
the  dead  man's  chest  rise  as  it  was  inflated  with 
oxygen  forced  by  the  accordion  bellows  from  the 
tank  through  one  of  the  tubes  into  the  lungs.  Then 
it  fell  as  the  oxygen  and  the  poisonous  gas  were 
slowly  sucked  out  through  the  other  tube.  Again 
and  again  the  process  was  repeated,  about  ten  times 
a  minute. 

Dr.  Burnham  looked  on  in  undisguised  amaze- 
ment. He  had  long  since  given  up  all  hope.  The 
man  was  dead,  medically  dead,  as  dead  as  ever  was 
any  gas  victim  at  this  stage  on  whom  all  the  usual 
methods  of  resuscitation  had  been  tried  and  had 
failed. 

Still,  minute  after  minute,  Kennedy  worked  faith- 
fully on,  trying  to  discover  some  spark  of  life  and 
to  fan  it  into  flame.  At  last,  after  what  seemed 
to  be  a  half-hour  of  unremitting  effort,  when  the 
oxygen  had  long  since  been  exhausted  and  only 
fresh  air  was  being  pumped  into  the  lungs  and  out 
of  them,  there  was  a  first  faint  glimmer  of  life  in 
the  heart  and  a  touch  of  colour  in  the  cheeks.  Has- 
well  was  coming  to.  Another  half-hour  found  him 
muttering  and  rambling  weakly. 

"  The  letter — the  letter,"  he  moaned,  rolling  his 


350  THE  POISONED  PEN 

glazed  eyes  about.  "Where  is  the  letter?  Send 
for  Grace." 

The  moan  was  so  audible  that  it  was  startling. 
It  was  like  a  voice  from  the  grave.  What  did  it 
all  mean?  Mrs.  Martin  was  at  his  side  in  a 
moment. 

"  Father,  father, — here  I  am — Grace.  What  do 
you  want?  " 

The  old  man  moved  restlessly,  feverishly,  and 
pressed  his  trembling  hand  to  his  forehead  as  if 
trying  to  collect  his  thoughts.  He  was  weak,  but 
it  was  evident  that  he  had  been  saved. 

The  pulmotor  had  been  stopped.  Craig  threw 
the  cap  to  his  student  to  be  packed  up,  and  as  he 
did  so  he  remarked  quietly,  "  I  could  wish  that 
Dr.  Scott  had  been  found.  There  are  some  matters 
here  that  might  interest  him." 

He  paused  and  looked  slowly  from  the  rescued 
man  lying  dazed  on  the  bed  toward  Mrs.  Martin. 
It  was  quite  apparent  even  to  me  that  she  did  not 
share  the  desire  to  see  Dr.  Scott,  at  least  not  just 
then.  She  was  flushed  and  trembling  with  emotion. 
Crossing  the  room  hurriedly  she  flung  open  the 
door  into  the  hall. 

"  I  am  sure,"  she  cried,  controlling  herself  with 
difficulty  and  catching  at  a  straw,  as  it  were,  "  that 
you  gentlemen,  even  if  you  have  saved  my  father, 
are  no  friends  of  either  his  or  mine.  You  have 
merely  come  here  in  response  to  Dr.  Burnham,  and 
he  came  because  Jane  lost  her  head  in  the  excite- 
ment and  forgot  that  Dr.  Scott  is  now  our 
physician." 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  351 

"  But  Dr.  Scott  could  not  have  been  found  in 
time,  madame,"  interposed  Dr.  Burnham  with  evi- 
dent triumph. 

She  ignored  the  remark  and  continued  to  hold 
the  door  open. 

"  Now  leave  us,"  she  implored,  "  you,  Dr.  Burn- 
ham,  you,  Mr.  Prescott,  you,  Professor  Kennedy, 
and  your  friend  Mr.  Jameson,  whoever  you  may  be." 

She  was  now  cold  and  calm.  In  the  bewildering 
change  of  events  we  had  forgotten  the  wan  figure 
on  the  bed  still  gasping  for  the  breath  of  life.  I 
could  not  help  wondering  at  the  woman's  apparent 
lack  of  gratitude,  and  a  thought  flashed  over  my 
mind.  Had  the  affair  come  to  a  contest  between 
various  parties  fighting  by  fair  means  or  foul  for 
the  old  man's  money — Scott  and  Mrs.  Martin  per- 
haps against  Prescott  and  Dr.  Burnham?  No  one 
moved.  We  seemed  to  be  waiting  on  Kennedy. 
Prescott  and  Mrs.  Martin  were  now  glaring  at 
each  other  implacably. 

The  old  man  moved  restlessly  on  the  bed,  and 
over  my  shoulder  I  could  hear  him  gasp  faintly, 
"Where's  Grace?  Send  for  Grace." 

Mrs.  Martin  paid  no  attention,  seemed  not  to 
hear,  but  stood  facing  us  imperiously  as  if  waiting 
for  us  to  obey  her  orders  and  leave  the  house. 
Burnham  moved  toward  the  door,  but  Prescott 
stood  his  ground  with  a  peculiar  air  of  defiance. 
Then  he  took  my  arm  and  started  rather  precipi- 
tately, I  thought,  to  leave. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  somebody  behind  us, 
"  enough  of  the  dramatics." 


352  THE  POISONED  PEN 

It  was  Kennedy,  who  had  been  bending  down, 
listening  to  the  muttering  of  the  old  man. 

"  Look  at  those  eyes  of  Mr.  Haswell,"  he  said. 
"  What  colour  are  they?  " 

We  looked.     They  were  blue. 

"  Down  in  the  parlour,"  continued  Kennedy 
leisurely,  "  you  will  find  a  portrait  of  the  long 
deceased  Mrs.  Haswell.  If  you  will  examine  that 
painting  you  will  see  that  her  eyes  are  also  a  pecu- 
liarly limpid  blue.  No  couple  with  blue  eyes  ever 
had  a  black-eyed  child.  At  least,  if  this  is  such  a 
case,  the  Carnegie  Institution  investigators  would 
be  glad  to  hear  of  it,  for  it  is  contrary  to  all  that 
they  have  discovered  on  the  subject  after  years  of 
study  of  eugenics.  Dark-eyed  couples  may  have 
light-eyed  children,  but  the  reverse,  never.  What 
do  you  say  to  that,  madame?" 

"  You  lie,"  screamed  the  woman,  rushing  fran- 
tically past  us.  "  I  am  his  daughter.  No  inter- 
lopers shall  separate  us.  Father!  " 

The  old  man  moved  feebly  away  from  her. 

"  Send  for  Dr.  Scott  again,"  she  demanded. 
"  See  if  he  cannot  be  found.  He  must  be  found. 
You  are  all  enemies,  villains." 

She  addressed  Kennedy,  but  included  the  whole 
room  in  her  denunciation. 

"  Not  all,"  broke  in  Kennedy  remorselessly. 
4  Yes,  madame,  send  for  Dr.  Scott.  Why  is  he 
not  here?"  - 

Prescott,  with  one  hand  on  my  arm  and  the  other 
on  Dr.  Burnham's,  was  moving  toward  the  door. 

"  One  moment,  Prescott,"  interrupted  Kennedy, 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  353 

detaining  him  with  a  look.  '  There  was  something 
I  was  about  to  say  when  Dr.  Burnham's  urgent 
message  prevented  it.  I  did  not  take  the  trouble 
even  to  find  out  how  you  obtained  that  little  globule 
of  molten  gold  from  the  crucible  of  alleged  copper. 
There  are  so  many  tricks  by  which  the  gold  could 
have  been  '  salted '  and  brought  forth  at  the  right 
moment  that  it  was  hardly  worth  while.  Besides, 
I  had  satisfied  myself  that  my  first  suspicions  were 
correct.  See  that?  " 

He  held  out  the  little  piece  of  mineral  I  had 
already  seen  in  his  hand  in  the  alchemist's  labor- 
atory. 

"  That  is  a  piece  of  willemite.  It  has  the  prop- 
erty of  glowing  or  fluorescing  under  a  certain  kind  of 
rays  which  are  themselves  invisible  to  the  human  eye. 
Prescott,  your  story  of  the  transmutation  of  ele- 
ments is  very  clever,  but  not  more  clever  than  your 
real  story.  Let  us  piece  it  together.  I  had  already 
heard  from  Dr.  Burnham  how  Mr.  Haswell  was 
induced  by  his  desire  for  gain  to  visit  you  and  how 
you  had  most  mysteriously  predicted  his  blindness. 
Now,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  telepathy,  at  least 
in  this  case.  How  then  was  I  to  explain  it?  What 
could  cause  such  a  catastrophe  naturally?  Why, 
only  those  rays  invisible  to  the  human  eye,  but 
which  make  this  piece  of  willemite  glow — the  ultra- 
violet rays." 

Kennedy  was  speaking  rapidly  and  was  careful 
not  to  pause  long  enough  to  give  Prescott  an  oppor- 
tunity to  interrupt  him. 

"  These  ultra-violet  rays,"   he  continued,   "  are 


354  THE  POISONED  PEN 

always  present  in  an  electric  arc  light  though  not  to 
a  great  degree  unless  the  carbons  have  metal  cores. 
[They  extend  for  two  octaves  above  the  violet  of 
the  spectrum  and  are  too  short  to  affect  the  eye 
as  light,  although  they  affect  photographic  plates. 
They  are  the  friend  of  man  when  he  uses  them  in 
moderation  as  Finsen  did  iii  the  famous  blue  light 
treatment.  But  they  tolerate  no  familiarity.  To 
let  them — particularly  the  shorter  of  the  rays — 
enter  the  eye  is  to  invite  trouble.  There  is  no  warn- 
ing sense  of  discomfort,  but  from  six  to  eighteen 
hours  after  exposure  to  them  the  victim  experiences 
violent  pains  in  the  eyes  and  headache.  Sight  may 
be  seriously  impaired,  and  it  may  take  years  to  re- 
cover. Often  prolonged  exposure  results  in  blind- 
ness, though  a  moderate  exposure  acts  like  a  tonic. 
The  rays  may  be  compared  in  this  double  effect 
to  drugs,  such  as  strychnine.  Too  much  of  them 
may  be  destructive  even  to  life  itself." 

Prescott  had  now  paused  and  was  regarding 
Kennedy  contemptuously.  Kennedy  paid  no  atten- 
tion, but  continued:  "  Perhaps  these  mysterious  rays 
may  shed  some  light  on  our  minds,  however.  Now, 
for  one  thing,  ultra-violet  light  passes  readily 
through  quartz,  but  is  cut  off  by  ordinary  glass, 
especially  if  it  is  coated  with  chromium.  Old  Mr. 
Haswell  did  not  wear  glasses.  Therefore  he  was 
subject  to  the  rays — the  more  so  as  he  is  a  blond, 
and  I  think  it  has  been  demonstrated  by  investi- 
gators that  blonds  are  more  affected  by  them  than 
are  brunettes. 

'  You  have,  as  a  part  of  your  machine,  a  pecu- 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  355 

liarly  shaped  quartz  mercury  vapour  lamp,  and  the 
mercury  vapour  lamp  of  a  design  such  as  that  I 
saw  has  been  invented  for  the  especial  purpose  of 
producing  ultra-violet  rays  in  large  quantity.  There 
are  also  in  your  machine  induction  coils  for  the 
purpose  of  making  an  impressive  noise,  and  a  small 
electric  furnace  to  heat  the  salted  gold.  I  don't 
know  what  other  ingenious  fakes  you  have  added. 
The  visible  bluish  light  from  the  tube  is  designed, 
I  suppose,  to  hoodwink  the  credulous,  but  the  dan- 
gerous thing  about  it  is  the  invisible  ray  that  accom- 
panies that  light.  Mr.  Haswell  sat  under  those 
invisible  rays,  Prescott,  never  knowing  how  deadly 
they  might  be  to  him,  an  old  man. 

'  You  knew  that  they  would  not  take  effect  for 
hours,  and  hence  you  ventured  the  prediction  that 
he  would  be  stricken  at  about  midnight.  Even  if 
it  was  partial  or  temporary,  still  you  would  be  safe 
in  your  prophecy.  You  succeeded  better  than  you 
hoped  in  that  part  of  your  scheme.  You  had  al- 
ready prepared  the  way  by  means  of  a  letter  sent 
to  Mr.  Haswell  through  Dr.  Burnham.  But  Mr. 
Haswell's  credulity  and  fear  worked  the  wrong 
way.  Instead  of  appealing  to  you  he  hated  you. 
In  his  predicament  he  thought  only  of  his  banished 
daughter  and  turned  instinctively  to  her  for  help. 
That  made  necessary  a  quick  change  of  plans." 

Prescott,  far  from  losing  his  nerve,  turned  on 
us  bitterly.  "  I  knew  you  two  were  spies  the 
moment  I  saw  you,"  he  shouted.  "  It  seemed  as 
if  in  some  way  I  knew  you  for  what  you  were,  as 
if  I  knew  you  had  seen  Mr.  Haswell  before  you 


356  THE  POISONED  PEN 

came  to  me.  You,  too,  would  have  robbed  an  in- 
ventor as  I  am  sure  he  would.  But  have  a  care, 
both  of  you.  You  may  be  punished  also  by  blind- 
ness for  your  duplicity.  Who  knows?  " 

A  shudder  passed  over  me  at  the  horrible  thought 
contained  in  his  mocking  laugh.  Were  we  doomed 
to  blindness,  too?  I  looked  at  the  sightless  man 
on  the  bed  in  alarm. 

"  I  knew  that  you  would  know  us,"  retorted  Ken- 
nedy calmly.  "  Therefore  we  came  provided  with 
spectacles  of  Euphos  glass,  precisely  like  those  you 
wear.  No,  Prescott,  we  are  safe,  though  perhaps 
we  may  have  some  burns  like  those  red  blotches 
on  Mr.  Haswell,  light  burns." 

Prescott  had  fallen  back  a  step  and  Mrs.  Martin 
was  making  an  effort  to  appear  stately  and  end  the 
interview. 

"  No,0  continued  Craig,  suddenly  wheeling,  and 
startling  us  by  the  abruptness  of  his  next  exposure, 
w  it  is  you  and  your  wife  here — Mrs.  Prescott,  not 
Mrs.  Martin — who  must  have  a  care.  Stop  glar- 
ing at  each  other.  It  is  no  use  playing  at  enemies 
longer  and  trying  to  get  rid  of  us.  You  overdo 
it.  The  game  is  up." 

Prescott  made  a  rush  at  Kennedy,  who  seized 
him  by  the  wrist  and  held  him  tightly  in  a  grasp 
of  steel  that  caused  the  veins  on  the  back  of  his 
hands  to  stand  out  like  whipcords. 

'  This  is  a  deep-laid  plot,"  he  went  on  calmly, 
still  holding  Prescott,  while  I  backed  up  against 
the  door  and  cut  off  his  wife;  "but  it  is  not  so 
difficult  to  see  it  after  all.  Your  part  was  to  destroy 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  357 

the  eyesight  of  the  old  man,  to  make  it  necessary 
for  him  to  call  on  his  daughter.  Your  wife's  part 
was  to  play  the  role  of  Mrs.  Martin,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  years  and  could  not  see  now.  She 
was  to  persuade  him,  with  her  filial  affection,  to 
make  her  the  beneficiary  of  his  will,  to  see  that  his 
money  was  kept  readily  convertible  into  cash. 

'  Then,  when  the  old  man  was  at  last  out  of  the 
way,  you  two  could  decamp  with  what  you  could 
realise  before  the  real  daughter,  cut  off  somewhere 
across  the  continent,  could  hear  of  the  death  of  her 
father.  It  was  an  excellent  scheme.  But  Haswell's 
plain,  material  newspaper  advertisement  was  not  so 
effective  for  your  purposes,  Prescott,  as  the  more 
artistic  '  telepagram,'  as  you  call  it.  Although  you 
two  got  in  first  in  answering  the  advertisement,  it 
finally  reached  the  right  person  after  all.  You 
didn't  get  away  quickly  enough. 

"  You  were  not  expecting  that  the  real  daughter 
would  see  it  and  turn  up  so  soon.  But  she  has. 
She  lives  in  California.  Mr.  Haswell  in  his  de- 
lirium has  just  told  of  receiving  a  telegram  which 
I  suppose  you,  Mrs.  Prescott,  read,  destroyed,  and 
acted  upon.  It  hurried  your  plans,  but  you  were 
equal  to  the  emergency.  Besides,  possession  is  nine 
points  in  the  law.  You  tried  the  gas,  making  it 
look  like  a  suicide.  Jane,  in  her  excitement,  spoiled 
that,  and  Dr.  Burnham,  knowing  where  I  was,  as 
it  happened,  was  able  to  summon  me  immediately. 
Circumstances  have  been  against  you  from  the  first, 
Prescott." 

Craig  was  slowly  twisting  up  the  hand  of  the 


358  THE  POISONED  PEN 

inventor,  which  he  still  held.  With  his  other  hand 
he  pulled  a  paper  from  his  pocket.  It  was  the  old 
envelope  on  which  he  had  written  upon  the  occasion 
of  our  first  visit  to  Mr.  Haswell  when  we  had  been 
so  unceremoniously  interrupted  by  the  visit  of  Dr. 
Scott. 

"  I  sat  here  yesterday  by  this  bed,"  continued 
Craig,  motioning  toward  the  chair  he  had  occupied, 
as  I  remembered.  "  Mr.  Haswell  was  telling  Dr. 
Scott  something  in  an  undertone.  I  could  not  hear 
it.  But  the  old  man  grasped  the  doctor  by  the  wrist 
to  pull  him  closer  to  whisper  to  him.  The  doctor's 
hand  was  toward  me  and  I  noticed  the  peculiar 
markings  of  the  veins. 

"  You  perhaps  are  not  acquainted  with  the  fact, 
but  the  markings  of  the  veins  in  the  back  of  the 
hand  are  peculiar  to  each  individual — as  infallible, 
indestructible,  and  ineffaceable  as  finger  prints  or 
the  shape  of  the  ear.  It  is  a  system  invented  and 
developed  by  Professor  Tamassia  of  the  University 
of  Padua,  Italy.  A  superficial  observer  would  say 
that  all  vein  patterns  were  essentially  similar,  and 
many  have  said  so,  but  Tamassia  has  found  each 
to  be  characteristic  and  all  subject  to  almost  in- 
credible diversities.  There  are  six  general  classes — 
in  this  case  before  us,  two  large  veins  crossed  by 
a  few  secondary  veins  forming  a  V  with  its  base 
near  the  wrist. 

"  Already  my  suspicions  had  been  aroused.  I 
sketched  the  arrangement  of  the  veins  standing  out 
on  that  hand.  I  noted  the  same  thing  just  now  on 
the  hand  that  manipulated  the  fake  apparatus  in 


THE  INVISIBLE  RAY  359 

the  laboratory.     Despite  the  difference  in  make-up 
Scott  and  Prescott  are  the  same. 

"  The  invisible  rays  of  the  ultra-violet  light  may 
have  blinded  Mr.  Haswell,  even  to  the  recognition 
of  his  own  daughter,  but  you  can  rest  assured,  Pres- 
cott, that  the  very  cleverness  of  your  scheme  will 
penetrate  the  eyes  of  the  blindfolded  goddess  of 
justice.  Burnham,  if  you  will  have  the  kindness  to 
summon  the  police,  I  will  take  all  the  responsibility 
for  the  arrest  of  these  people." 


XII 
THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER 

"  WHAT  a  relief  it  will  be  when  this  election  is  over 
and  the  newspapers  print  news  again,"  I  growled 
as  I  turned  the  first  page  of  the  Star  with  a  mere 
glance  at  the  headlines. 

"  Yes,"  observed  Kennedy,  who  was  puzzling 
over  a  note  which  he  had  received  in  the  morning 
mail.  "  This  is  the  bitterest  campaign  in  years. 
Now,  do  you  suppose  that  they  are  after  me  in  a 
professional  way  or  are  they  trying  to  round  me  up 
as  an  independent  voter?  " 

The  letter  which  had  called  forth  this  remark 
was  headed,  "  The  Travis  Campaign  Committee  of 
the  Reform  League,"  and,  as  Kennedy  evidently 
intended  me  to  pass  an  opinion  on  it,  I  picked  it  up. 
It  was  only  a  few  lines,  requesting  him  to  call  during 
the  morning,  if  convenient,  on  Wesley  Travis,  the 
candidate  for  governor  and  the  treasurer  of  his 
campaign  committee,  Dean  Bennett.  It  had  evi- 
dently been  written  in  great  haste  in  longhand  the 
night  before. 

"  Professional,"  I  hazarded.  "  There  must  be 
some  scandal  in  the  campaign  for  which  they  re- 
quire your  services." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  agreed  Craig.  "  Well,  if  it  is 
business  instead  of  politics  it  has  at  least  this  merit 
— it  is  current  business.  I  suppose  you  have  no 
objection  to  going  with  me?  " 

360 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         361 

Thus  it  came  about  that  not  very  much  later  in 
the  morning  we  found  ourselves  at  the  campaign 
headquarters,  in  the  presence  of  two  nervous  and 
high-keyed  gentlemen  in  frock  coats  and  silk  hats. 
It  would  have  taken  no  great  astuteness,  even  with- 
out seeing  the  surroundings,  to  deduce  instantly  that 
they  were  engaged  in  the  annual  struggle  of  seeking 
the  votes  of  their  fellow-citizens  for  something  or 
other,  and  were  nearly  worn  out  by  the  arduous 
nature  of  that  process. 

Their  headquarters  were  in  a  tower  of  a  sky- 
scraper, whence  poured  forth  a  torrent  of  appeal 
to  the  moral  sense  of  the  electorate,  both  in  printed 
and  oral  form.  Yet  there  was  a  different  tone  to 
the  place  from  that  which  I  had  ordinarily  associ- 
ated with  political  headquarters  in  previous  cam- 
paigns. There  was  an  absence  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned politicians  and  of  the  air  of  intrigue  laden 
with  tobacco.  Rather,  there  was  an  air  of  earnest- 
ness and  efficiency  which  was  decidedly  prepossess- 
ing. Maps  of  the  state  were  hanging  on  the  walls, 
some  stuck  full  of  various  coloured  pins  denoting 
the  condition  of  the  canvass.  A  map  of  the  city 
in  colours,  divided  into  all  sorts  of  districts,  told 
how  fared  the  battle  in  the  stronghold  of  the  boss, 
Billy  McLoughlin.  Huge  systems  of  card  indexes, 
loose  leaf  devices,  labour-saving  appliances  for  get- 
ting out  a  vast  mass  of  campaign  "  literature  "  in 
a  hurry,  in  short  a  perfect  system,  such  as  a  great, 
well-managed  business  might  have  been  proud  of, 
were  in  evidence  everywhere. 

Wesley  Travis  was  a  comparatively  young  man, 


362  THE  POISONED  PEN 

a  lawyer  who  had  early  made  a  mark  in  politics 
and  had  been  astute  enough  to  shake  off  the  thral- 
dom of  the  bosses  before  the  popular  uprising 
against  them.  Now  he  was  the  candidate  of  the 
Reform  League  for  governor  and  a  good  stiff  cam- 
paign he  was  putting  up. 

His  campaign  manager,  Dean  Bennett,  was  a 
business  man  whose  financial  interests  were  opposed 
to  those  usually  understood  to  be  behind  Billy 
McLoughlin,  of  the  regular  party  to  which  both 
Travis  and  Bennett  might  naturally  have  been  sup- 
posed to  belong  in  the  old  days.  Indeed  the  Re- 
form League  owed  its  existence  to  a  fortunate  con- 
junction of  both  moral  and  economic  conditions  de- 
manding progress. 

"  Things  have  been  going  our  way  up  to  the 
present,"  began  Travis  confidentially,  when  we  were 
seated  democratically  with  our  campaign  cigars 
lighted.  "  Of  course  we  haven't  such  a  big  '  barrel ' 
as  our  opponents,  for  we  are  not  frying  the  fat 
out  of  the  corporations.  But  the  people  have  sup- 
ported us  nobly,  and  I  think  the  opposition  of  the 
vested  interests  has  been  a  great  help.  We  seem 
to  be  winning,  and  I  say  '  seem  '  only  because  one 
can  never  be  certain  how  anything  is  going  in  this 
political  game  nowadays. 

'  You  recall,  Mr.  Kennedy,  reading  in  the  papers 
that  my  country  house  out  on  Long  Island  was 
robbed  the  other  day?  Some  of  the  reporters  made 
much  of  it.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  think  they  had 
become  so  satiated  with  sensations  that  they  were 
sure  that  the  thing  was  put  up  by  some  muckrakers 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         363 

and  that  there  would  be  an  expose  of  some  kind. 
For  the  thief,  whoever  he  was,  seems  to  have  taken 
nothing  from  my  library  but  a  sort  of  scrap-book 
or  album  of  photographs.  It  was  a  peculiar  rob- 
bery, but  as  I  had  nothing  to  conceal  it  didn't  worry 
me.  Well,  I  had  all  but  forgotten  it  when  a  fellow 
came  into  Bennett's  office  here  yesterday  and  de- 
manded— tell  us  what  it  was,  Bennett.  You  saw 
him." 

Bennett  cleared  his  throat.  "  You  see,  it  was 
this  way.  He  gave  his  name  as  Harris  Hanford 
and  described  himself  as  a  photographer.  I  think 
he  has  done  work  for  Billy  McLoughlin.  At  any 
rate,  his  offer  was  to  sell  us  several  photographs, 
and  his  story  about  them  was  very  circumstantial. 
He  hinted  that  they  had  been  evidently  among  those 
stolen  from  Mr.  Travis  and  that  in  a  roundabout 
way  they  had  come  into  the  possession  of  a  friend 
of  his  without  his  knowing  who  the  thief  was.  He 
said  that  he  had  not  made  the  photographs  himself, 
but  had  an  idea  by  whom  they  were  made,  that  the 
original  plates  had  been  destroyed,  but  that  the 
person  who  made  them  was  ready  to  swear  that  the 
pictures  were  taken  after  the  nominating  convention 
this  fall  which  had  named  Travis.  At  any  rate  the 
photographs  were  out  and  the  price  for  them  was 
$25,000." 

"  What  are  they  that  he  should  set  such  a  price 
on  them?  "  asked  Kennedy,  keenly  looking  from 
Bennett  quickly  to  Travis. 

Travis  met  his  look  without  flinching.  "  They 
are  supposed  to  be  photographs  of  myself,"  he  re- 


364  THE  POISONED  PEN 

plied  slowly.  "  One  purports  to  represent  me  in 
a  group  on  McLoughlin's  porch  at  his  farm  on  the 
south  shore  of  the  island,  about  twenty  miles  from 
my  place.  As  Hanford  described  it,  I  am  standing 
between  McLoughlin  and  J.  Cadwalader  Brown, 
the  trust  promoter  who  is  backing  McLoughlin  to 
save  his  investments.  Brown's  hand  is  on  my  shoul- 
der and  we  are  talking  familiarly.  Another  is  a 
picture  of  Brown,  McLoughlin,  and  myself  riding 
in  Brown's  car,  and  in  it  Brown  and  I  are  evidently 
on  the  best  of  terms.  Oh,  there  are  several  of  them, 
all  in  the  same  vein.  Now,"  he  added,  and  his  voice 
rose  with  emotion  as  if  he  were  addressing  a  cart- 
tail  meeting  which  must  be  convinced  that  there  was 
nothing  criminal  in  riding  in  a  motor-car,  "  I  don't 
hesitate  to  admit  that  a  year  or  so  ago  I  was  not 
on  terms  of  intimacy  with  these  men,  but  at  least 
acquainted  with  them.  At  various  times,  even  as 
late  as  last  spring,  I  was  present  at  conferences  over 
the  presidential  outlook  in  this  state,  and  once  I 
think  I  did  ride  back  to  the  city  with  them.  But  I 
know  that  there  were  no  pictures  taken,  and  even 
if  there  had  been  I  would  not  care  if  they  told 
the  truth  about  them.  I  have  frankly  admitted  in 
my  speeches  that  I  knew  these  men,  that  my  knowl- 
edge of  them  and  breaking  from  them  is  my  chief 
qualification  for  waging  an  effective  war  on  them 
if  I  am  elected.  They  hate  me  cordially.  You 
know  that.  What  I  do  care  about  is  the  sworn 
allegation  that  now  accompanies  these — these  fakes. 
They  were  not,  could  not  have  been  taken  after  the 
independent  convention  that  nominated  me.  If  the 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER        365 

photographs  were  true  I  would  be  a  fine  traitor. 
But  I  haven't  even  seen  McLoughlin  or  Brown  since 
last  spring.  The  whole  thing  is  a " 

"  Lie  from  start  to  finish,"  put  in  Bennett  em- 
phatically. "  Yes,  Travis,  we  all  know  that,  I'd 
quit  right  now  if  I  didn't  believe  in  you.  But  let 
us  face  the  facts.  Here  is  this  story,  sworn  to 
as  Hanford  says  and  apparently  acquiesced  in  by 
Billy  McLoughlin  and  Cad.  Brown.  What  do  they 
care  anyhow  as  long  as  it  is  against  you?  And 
there,  too,  are  the  pictures  themselves — at  least  they 
will  be  in  print  or  suppressed,  according  as  we  act. 
Now,  you  know  that  nothing  could  hurt  the  reform 
ticket  worse  than  to  have  an  issue  like  this  raised 
at  this  time.  We  were  supposed  at  least  to  be  on 
the  level,  with  nothing  to  explain  away.  There  may 
be  just  enough  people  to  believe  that  there  is  some 
basis  for  this  suspicion  to  turn  the  tide  against  us. 
If  it  were  earlier  in  the  campaign  I'd  say  accept  the 
issue,  fight  it  out  to  a  finish,  and  in  the  turn  of 
events  we  should  really  have  the  best  campaign 
material.  But  it  is  too  late  now  to  expose  such  a 
knavish  trick  of  theirs  on  the  Friday  before  election. 
Frankly,  I  believe  discretion  is  the  better  part  of 
valour  in  this  case  and  without  abating  a  jot  of  my 
faith  in  you,  Travis,  well,  I'd  pay  first  and  expose 
the  fraud  afterward,  after  the  election,  at  leisure." 

u  No,  I  won't,"  persisted  Travis,  shutting  his 
square  jaw  doggedly.  "  I  won't  be  held  up." 

The  door  had  opened  and  a  young  lady  in  a  very 
stunning  street  dress,  with  a  huge  hat  and  a  tan- 
talising veil,  stood  in  it  for  a  moment,  hesitated, 


366  THE  POISONED  PEN 

and  then  was  about  to  shut  it  with  an  apology  for 
intruding  on  a  conference. 

"  I'll  fight  it  if  it  takes  my  last  dollar,"  declared 
Travis,  "  but  I  won't  be  blackmailed  out  of  a  cent. 
Good-morning,  Miss  Ashton.  I'll  be  free  in  a  mo- 
ment. I'll  see  you  in  your  office  directly." 

The  girl,  with  a  portfolio  of  papers  in  her  hand, 
smiled,  and  Travis  quickly  crossed  the  room  and 
held  the  door  deferentially  open  as  he  whispered  a 
word  or  two.  When  she  had  disappeared  he  re- 
turned and  remarked,  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard 
of  Miss  Margaret  Ashton,  the  suffragette  leader, 
Mr.  Kennedy?  She  is  the  head  of  our  press  bu- 
reau." Then  a  heightened  look  of  determination 
set  his  fine  face  in  hard  lines,  and  he  brought  his 
fist  down  on  the  desk.  "  No,  not  a  cent,"  he  thun- 
dered. 

Bennett  shrugged  his  shoulders  hopelessly  and 
looked  at  Kennedy  in  mock  resignation  as  if  to  say, 
'  What  can  you  do  with  such  a  fellow?  "  Travis 
was  excitedly  pacing  the  floor  and  waving  his  arms 
as  if  he  were  addressing  a  meeting  in  the  enemy's 
country.  "  Hanford  comes  at  us  in  this  way,"  he 
continued,  growing  more  excited  as  he  paced  up 
and  down.  "  He  says  plainly  that  the  pictures  will 
of  course  be  accepted  as  among  those  stolen  from 
me,  and  in  that,  I  suppose,  he  is  right.  The  public 
will  swallow  it.  When  Bennett  told  him  I  would 
prosecute  he  laughed  and  said,  '  Go  ahead.  I  didn't 
steal  the  pictures.  That  would  be  a  great  joke  for 
(Travis  to  seek  redress  from  the  courts  he  is  criti- 
cising. I  guess  he'd  want  to  recall  the  decision  if 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         367 

it  went  against  him — hey?  '  Hanford  says  that  a 
hundred  copies  have  been  made  of  each  of  the 
photographs  and  that  this  person,  whom  we  do  not 
know,  has  them  ready  to  drop  into  the  mail  to  the 
one  hundred  leading  papers  of  the  state  in  time 
for  them  to  appear  in  the  Monday  editions  just 
before  Election  Day.  He  says  no  amount  of  deny- 
ing on  our  part  can  destroy  the  effect — or  at  least 
he  went  further  and  said  '  shake  their  validity.' 

"  But  I  repeat.  They  are  false.  For  all  I  know, 
it  is  a  plot  of  McLoughlin's,  the  last  fight  of  a 
boss  for  his  life,  driven  into  a  corner.  And  it  is 
meaner  than  if  he  had  attempted  to  forge  a  letter. 
Pictures  appeal  to  the  eye  and  mind  much  more 
than  letters.  That's  what  makes  the  thing  so  dan- 
gerous. Billy  McLoughlin  knows  how  to  make  the 
best  use  of  such  a  roorback  on  the  eve  of  an  elec- 
tion, and  even  if  I  not  only  deny  but  prove  that 
they  are  a  fake,  I'm  afraid  the  harm  will  be  done. 
I  can't  reach  all  the  voters  in  time.  Ten  see  such 
a  charge  to  one  who  sees  the  denial." 

"  Just  so,"  persisted  Bennett  coolly.  "  You  ad- 
mit that  we  are  practically  helpless.  That's  what 
I  have  been  saying  all  along.  Get  control  of  the 
prints  first,  Travis,  for  God's  sake.  Then  raise 
any  kind  of  a  howl  you  want — before  election  or 
after.  As  I  say,  if  we  had  a  week  or  two  it  might 
be  all  right  to  fight.  But  we  can  make  no  move 
without  making  fools  of  ourselves  until  they  are 
published  Monday  as  the  last  big  thing  of  the  cam- 
paign. The  rest  of  Monday  and  the  Tuesday  morn- 
ing papers  do  not  give  us  time  to  reply.  Even  if 


368  THE  POISONED  PEN 

they  were  published  to-day  we  should  hardly  have 
time  to  expose  the  plot,  hammer  it  in,  and  make 
the  issue  an  asset  instead  of  a  liability.  No,  you 
must  admit  it  yourself.  There  isn't  time.  We  must 
carry  out  the  work  we  have  so  carefully  planned  to 
cap  the  campaign,  and  if  we  are  diverted  by  this 
it  means  a  let-up  in  our  final  efforts,  and  that  is  as 
good  as  McLoughlin  wants  anyhow.  Now,  Ken- 
nedy, don't  you  agree  with  me?  Squelch  the  pic- 
tures now  at  any  cost,  then  follow  the  thing  up  and, 
if  we  can,  prosecute  after  election?" 

Kennedy  and  I,  who  had  been  so  far  little  more 
than  interested  spectators,  had  not  presumed  to  in- 
terrupt. Finally  Craig  asked,  "  You  have  copies 
of  the  pictures?  " 

"No,"  replied  Bennett.  "This  Hanford  is  a 
brazen  fellow,  but  he  was  too  astute  to  leave  them. 
I  saw  them  for  an  instant.  They  look  bad.  And 
the  affidavits  with  them  look  worse." 

"  H'm,"  considered  Kennedy,  turning  the  crisis 
over  in  his  mind.  "  We've  had  alleged  stolen  and 
forged  letters  before,  but  alleged  stolen  and  forged 
photographs  are  new.  I'm  not  surprised  that  you 
are  alarmed,  Bennett, — nor  that  you  want  to  fight, 
Travis." 

'  Then  you  will  take  up  the  case?"  urged  the 
latter  eagerly,  forgetting  both  his  campaign  man- 
ager and  his  campaign  manners,  and  leaning  for- 
ward almost  like  a  prisoner  in  the  dock  to  catch  the 
words  of  the  foreman  of  the  jury.  "  You  will  trace 
down  the  forger  of  those  pictures  before  it  is  too 
late?" 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         369 

"  I  haven't  said  I'll  do  that — yet,"  answered  Craig 
measuredly.  "  I  haven't  even  said  I'd  take  up  the 
case.  Politics  is  a  new  game  to  me,  Mr.  Travis. 
If  I  go  into  this  thing  I  want  to  go  into  it  and 
stay  in  it — well,  you  know  how  you  lawyers  put  it, 
with  clean  hands.  On  one  condition  I'll  take  the 
matter  up,  and  on  only  one." 

"  Name  it,"  cried  Travis  anxiously. 

"  Of  course,  having  been  retained  by  you,"  con- 
tinued Craig  with  provoking  slowness,  "  it  is  not 
reasonable  to  suppose  that  if  I  find — how  shall  I 
put  it — bluntly,  yes? — if  I  find  that  the  story  of 
Hanford  has  some — er — foundation,  it  is  not  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  I  should  desert  you  and  go 
over  to  the  other  side.  Neither  is  it  to  be  supposed 
that  I  will  continue  and  carry  such  a  thing  through 
for  you  regardless  of  truth.  What  I  ask  is  to  have 
a  free  hand,  to  be  able  to  drop  the  case  the  moment 
I  cannot  proceed  further  in  justice  to  myself,  drop 
it,  and  keep  my  mouth  shut.  You  understand? 
[These  are  my  conditions  and  no  less." 

"  And  you  think  you  can  make  good?  "  questioned 
Bennett  rather  sceptically.  "  You  are  willing  to 
risk  it?  You  don't  think  it  would  be  better  to 
wait  until  after  the  election  is  won?" 

"  You  have  heard  my  conditions,"  reiterated 
Craig. 

"  Done,"  broke  in  Travis.  "  I'm  going  to  fight 
it  out,  Bennett.  If  we  get  in  wrong  by  dickering 
with  them  at  the  start  it  may  be  worse  for  us  in 
the  end.  Paying  amounts  to  confession." 

Bennett  shook  his  head  dubiously.     "  I'm  afraid 


370  THE  POISONED  PEN 

this  will  suit  McLoughlin's  purpose  just  as  well. 
Photographs  are  like  statistics.  They  don't  lie 
unless  the  people  who  make  them  do.  But  it's  hard 
to  tell  what  a  liar  can  accomplish  with  either  in  an 
election." 

"Say,  Dean,  you're  not  going  to  desert  me?" 
reproached  Travis.  "  You're  not  offended  at  my 
kicking  over  the  traces,  are  you?  " 

Bennett  rose,  placed  a  hand  on  Travis's  shoulder, 
and  grasped  his  other.  "  Wesley,"  he  said  ear- 
nestly, "  I  wouldn't  desert  you  even  if  the  pictures 
were  true." 

"  I  knew  it,"  responded  Travis  heartily.  "  Then 
let  Mr.  Kennedy  have  one  day  to  see  what  he  can 
do.  Then  if  we  make  no  progress  we'll  take  your 
advice,  Dean.  We'll  pay,  I  suppose,  and  ask  Mr. 
Kennedy  to  continue  the  case  after  next  Tuesday." 

'  With  the  proviso,"  put  in  Craig. 

;'  With  the  proviso,  Kennedy,"  repeated  Travis. 
"  Your  hand  on  that.  Say,  I  think  I've  shaken 
hands  with  half  the  male  population  of  this  state 
since  I  was  nominated,  but  this  means  more  to  me 
than  any  of  them.  Call  on  us,  either  Bennett  or 
myself,  the  moment  you  need  aid.  Spare  no  reason- 
able expense,  and — and  get  the  goods,  no  matter 
whom  it  hits  higher  up,  even  if  it  is  Cadwalader 
Brown  himself.  Good-bye  and  a  thousand  thanks 
— oh,  by  the  way,  wait.  Let  me  take  you  around 
and  introduce  you  to  Miss  Ashton.  She  may  be 
able  to  help  you." 

The  office  of  Bennett  and  Travis  was  in  the 
centre  of  the  suite.  On  one  side  were  the  cashier 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         371 

and  clerical  force  as  well  as  the  speakers'  bureau, 
where  spellbinders  of  all  degrees  were  getting  in- 
struction, tours  were  being  laid  out,  and  reports 
received  from  meetings  already  held. 

On  the  other  side  was  the  press  bureau  with  a 
large  and  active  force  in  charge  of  Miss  Ashton, 
who  was  supporting  Travis  because  he  had  most  em- 
phatically declared  for  "  Votes  for  Women  "  and 
had  insisted  that  his  party  put  this  plank  in  its  plat- 
form. Miss  Ashton  was  a  clever  girl,  a  graduate 
of  a  famous  woman's  college,  and  had  had  several 
years  of  newspaper  experience  before  she  became 
a  leader  in  the  suffrage  cause.  I  recalled  having 
read  and  heard  a  great  deal  about  her,  though  I 
had  never  met  her.  The  Ashtons  were  well  known 
in  New  York  society,  and  it  was  a  sore  trial  to 
some  of  her  conservative  friends  that  she  should 
reject  what  they  considered  the  proper  "  sphere  " 
for  women.  Among  those  friends,  I  understood, 
was  Cadwalader  Brown  himself. 

Travis  had  scarcely  more  than  introduced  us,  yet 
already  I  scented  a  romance  behind  the  ordinarily 
prosaic  conduct  of  a  campaign  press  bureau.  It  is 
far  from  my  intention  to  minimise  the  work  or  the 
ability  of  the  head  of  the  press  bureau,  but  it  struck 
me,  both  then  and  later,  that  the  candidate  had  an 
extraordinary  interest  in  the  newspaper  campaign, 
much  more  than  in  the  speakers'  bureau,  and  I  am 
sure  that  it  was  not  solely  accounted  for  by  the  fact 
that  publicity  is  playing  a  more  and  more  important 
part  in  political  campaigning. 

Nevertheless  such  innovations  as  her  card  index 


372  THE  POISONED  PEN 

system  by  election  districts  all  over  the  state,  show- 
ing the  attitude  of  the  various  newspaper  editors, 
of  local  political  leaders,  and  changes  of  sentiment, 
were  very  full  and  valuable.  Kennedy,  who  had  a 
regular  pigeon-hole  mind  for  facts,  was  visibly  im- 
pressed by  this  huge  mechanical  memory  built  up  by 
Miss  Ashton.  Though  he  said  nothing  to  me  I 
knew  he  had  also  observed  the  state  of  affairs  be- 
tween the  reform  candidate  and  the  suffrage  leader. 

It  was  at  a  moment  when  Travis  had  been  called 
back  to  his  office  that  Kennedy,  who  had  been  eyeing 
Miss  Ashton  with  marked  approval,  leaned  over 
and  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  Miss  Ashton,  I  think  I 
can  trust  you.  Do  you  want  to  do  a  great  favour 
for  Mr.  Travis?" 

She  did  not  betray  even  by  a  fleeting  look  on  her 
face  what  the  true  state  of  her  feelings  was,  al- 
though I  fancied  that  the  readiness  of  her  assent 
had  perhaps  more  meaning  than  she  would  have 
placed  in  a  simple  "  Yes  "  otherwise. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  that  an  attempt  is  being 
made  to  blackmail  Mr.  Travis?"  added  Kennedy 
quickly. 

"  I  know  something  about  it,"  she  replied  in  a 
tone  which  left  it  for  granted  that  Travis  had  told 
her  before  even  we  were  called  in.  I  felt  that  not 
unlikely  Travis's  set  determination  to  fight  might 
be  traceable  to  her  advice  or  at  least  to  her  opinion 
of  him. 

"  I  suppose  in  a  large  force  like  this  it  is  not 
impossible  that  your  political  enemies  may  have  a 
spy  or  two,"  observed  Kennedy,  glancing  about  at 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         373 

the  score  or  more  clerks  busily  engaged  in  getting 
out  "  literature." 

"  I  have  sometimes  thought  that  myself,"  she 
agreed.  "  But  of  course  I  don't  know.  Still,  I 
have  to  be  pretty  careful.  Some  one  is  always  over 
here  by  my  desk  or  looking  over  here.  There  isn't 
much  secrecy  in  a  big  room  like  this.  I  never  leave 
important  stuff  lying  about  where  any  of  them  could 
see  it." 

"  Yes,"  mused  Kennedy.  "  What  time  does  the 
office  close?  " 

"  We  shall  finish  to-night  about  nine,  I  think. 
To-morrow  it  may  be  later." 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  should  call  here  to-night  at, 
say,  half-past  nine,  could  you  be  here?  I  need 
hardly  say  that  your  doing  so  may  be  of  inestimable 
value  to — to  the  campaign." 

"  I  shall  be  here,"  she  promised,  giving  her  hand 
with  a  peculiar  straight  arm  shake  and  looking  him 
frankly  in  the  face  with  those  eyes  which  even  the 
old  guard  in  the  legislature  admitted  were  vote- 
winners. 

Kennedy  was  not  quite  ready  to  leave  yet,  but 
sought  out  Travis  and  obtained  permission  to  glance 
over  the  financial  end  of  the  campaign.  There  were 
few  large  contributors  to  Travis's  fund,  but  a  host 
of  small  sums  ranging  from  ten  and  twenty-five 
dollars  down  to  dimes  and  nickels.  Truly  it  showed 
the  depth  of  the  popular  uprising.  Kennedy  also 
glanced  hastily  over  the  items  of  expense — rent, 
salaries,  stenographer  and  office  force,  advertising, 
printing  and  stationery,  postage,  telephone,  tele- 


374  THE  POISONED  PEN 

graph,  automobile  and  travelling  expenses,  and  mis- 
cellaneous matters. 

As  Kennedy  expressed  it  afterwards,  as  against 
the  small  driblets  of  money  coming  in,  large  sums 
were  going  out  for  expenses  in  lumps.  Campaign- 
ing in  these  days  costs  money  even  when  done 
honestly.  The  miscellaneous  account  showed  some 
large  indefinite  items,  and  after  a  hasty  calculation 
Kennedy  made  out  that  if  all  the  obligations  had 
to  be  met  immediately  the  committee  would  be  in 
the  hole  for  several  thousand  dollars. 

"  In  short,"  I  argued  as  we  were  leaving,  "  this 
will  either  break  Travis  privately  or  put  his  fund 
in  hopeless  shape.  Or  does  it  mean  that  he  foresees 
defeat  and  is  taking  this  way  to  recoup  himself 
under  cover  of  being  held  up?  " 

Kennedy  said  nothing  in  response  to  my  sus- 
picions, though  I  could  see  that  in  his  mind  he  was 
leaving  no  possible  clue  unnoted. 

It  was  only  a  few  blocks  to  the  studio  of  Harris 
Hanford,  whom  Kennedy  was  now  bent  on  seeing. 
We  found  him  in  an  old  building  on  one  of  the  side 
streets  in  the  thirties  which  business  had  captured. 
His  was  a  little  place  on  the  top  floor,  up  three 
flights  of  stairs,  and  I  noticed  as  we  climbed  up 
that  the  room  next  to  his  was  vacant. 

Our  interview  with  Hanford  was  short  and  un- 
satisfactory. He  either  was  or  at  least  posed  as 
representing  a  third  party  in  the  affair,  and  abso- 
lutely refused  to  permit  us  to  have  even  a  glance 
at  the  photographs. 

<l  My  dealings,"  he  asserted  airily,  "  must  all  be 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         375 

with  Mr.  Bennett,  or  with  Mr.  Travis,  direct,  not 
with  emissaries.  I  don't  make  any  secret  about  it. 
The  prints  are  not  here.  They  are  safe  and  ready 
to  be  produced  at  the  right  time,  either  to  be  handed 
over  for  the  money  or  to  be  published  in  the  news- 
papers. We  have  found  out  all  about  them;  we 
are  satisfied,  although  the  negatives  have  been  de- 
stroyed. As  for  their  having  been  stolen  from 
Travis,  you  can  put  two  and  two  together.  They 
are  out  and  copies  have  been  made  of  them,  good 
copies.  If  Mr.  Travis  wishes  to  repudiate  them, 
let  him  start  proceedings.  I  told  Bennett  all  about 
that.  To-morrow  is  the  last  day,  and  I  must  have 
Bennett's  answer  then,  without  any  interlopers  com- 
ing into  it.  If  it  is  yes,  well  and  good;  if  not,  then 
they  know  what  to  expect.  Good-bye." 

It  was  still  early  in  the  forenoon,  and  Kennedy's 
next  move  was  to  go  out  on  Long  Island  to  examine 
the  library  at  Travis's  from  which  the  pictures  were 
said  to  have  been  stolen.  At  the  laboratory  Ken- 
nedy and  I  loaded  ourselves  with  a  large  oblong 
black  case  containing  a  camera  and  a  tripod. 

His  examination  of  the  looted  library  was  minute, 
taking  in  the  window  through  which  the  thief  had 
apparently  entered,  the  cabinet  he  had  forced,  and 
the  situation  in  general.  Finally  Craig  set  up  his 
camera  with  most  particular  care  and  took  several 
photographs  of  the  window,  the  cabinet,  the  doors, 
including  the  room  from  every  angle.  Outside  he 
snapped  the  two  sides  of  the  corner  of  the  house  in 
which  the  library  was  situated.  Partly  by  trolley 
and  partly  by  carriage  we  crossed  the  island  to  the 


376  THE  POISONED  PEN 

south  shore,  and  finally  found  McLoughlin's  farm, 
where  we  had  no  trouble  in  getting  half  a  dozen 
photographs  of  the  porch  and  house.  Altogether 
the  proceedings  seemed  tame  to  me,  yet  I  knew  from 
previous  experience  that  Kennedy  had  a  deep  laid 
purpose. 

We  parted  in  the  city,  to  meet  just  before  it  was 
time  to  visit  Miss  Ashton.  Kennedy  had  evidently 
employed  the  interval  in  developing  his  plates,  for 
he  now  had  ten  or  a  dozen  prints,  all  of  exactly  the 
same  size,  mounted  on  stiff  cardboard  in  a  space 
with  scales  and  figures  on  all  four  sides.  He  saw 
me  puzzling  over  them. 

"  Those  are  metric  photographs  such  as  Bertillon 
of  Paris  takes,"  he  explained.  "  By  means  of  the 
scales  and  tables  and  other  methods  that  have  been 
worked  out  we  can  determine  from  those  pictures 
distances  and  many  other  things  almost  as  well  as 
if  we  were  on  the  spot  itself.  Bertillon  has  cleared 
up  many  crimes  with  this  help,  such  as  the  mystery 
of  the  shooting  in  the  Hotel  Quai  d'Orsay  and 
other  cases.  The  metric  photograph,  I  believe,  will 
in  time  rank  with  the  portrait  parle,  finger  prints, 
and  the  rest. 

"  For  instance,  in  order  to  solve  the  riddle  of  a 
crime  the  detective's  first  task  is  to  study  the  scene 
topographically.  Plans  and  elevations  of  a  room 
or  house  are  made.  The  position  of  each  object 
is  painstakingly  noted.  In  addition,  the  all-seeing 
eye  of  the  camera  is  called  into  requisition.  The 
plundered  room  is  photographed,  as  in  this  case. 
I  might  have  done  it  by  placing  a  foot  rule  on  a 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         377 

table  and  taking  that  in  the  picture,  but  a  more 
scientific  and  accurate  method  has  been  devised  by 
Bertillon.  His  camera  lens  is  always  used  at  a 
fixed  height  from  the  ground  and  forms  its  image 
on  the  plate  at  an  exact  focus.  The  print  made 
from  the  negative  is  mounted  on  a  card  in  a  space 
of  definite  size,  along  the  edges  of  which  a  metric 
scale  is  printed.  In  the  way  he  has  worked  it  out 
the  distance  between  any  two  points  in  the  picture 
can  be  determined.  With  a  topographical  plan  and 
a  metric  photograph  one  can  study  a  crime  as  a 
general  studies  the  map  of  a  strange  country.  There 
were  several  peculiar  things  that  I  observed  to-day, 
and  I  have  here  an  indelible  record  of  the  scene  of 
the  crime.  Preserved  in  this  way  it  cannot  be  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Now  the  photographs  were  in  this  cabinet. 
There  are  other  cabinets,  but  none  of  them  has  been 
disturbed.  Therefore  the  thief  must  have  known 
just  what  he  was  after.  The  marks  made  in  break- 
ing the  lock  were  not  those  of  a  jimmy  but  of  a 
screwdriver.  No  amazing  command  of  the  re- 
sources of  science  is  needed  so  far.  All  that  is 
necessary  is  a  little  scientific  common  sense,  Walter. 

"Now,  how  did  the  robber  get  in?  All  the 
windows  and  doors  were  supposedly  locked.  It  is 
alleged  that  a  pane  was  cut  from  this  window  at 
the  side.  It  was,  and  the  pieces  were  there  to 
show  it.  But  take  a  glance  at  this  outside  photo- 
graph. To  reach  that  window  even  a  tall  man 
must  have  stood  on  a  ladder  or  something.  There 
are  no  marks  of  a  ladder  or  of  any  person  in  the 


378  THE  POISONED  PEN 

soft  soil  under  the  window.  What  is  more,  that 
window  was  cut  from  the  inside.  The  marks  of 
the  diamond  which  cut  it  plainly  show  that.  Scien- 
tific common  sense  again." 

"  Then  it  must  have  been  some  one  in  the  house 
or  at  least  some  one  familiar  with  it?  "  I  exclaimed. 

Kennedy  nodded.  "  One  thing  we  have  which 
the  police  greatly  neglect,"  he  pursued,  "  a  record. 
We  have  made  some  progress  in  reconstructing  the 
crime,  as  Bertillon  calls  it.  If  we  only  had  those 
Hanford  pictures  we  should  be  all  right." 

We  were  now  on  our  way  to  see  Miss  Ashton 
at  headquarters,  and  as  we  rode  downtown  I  tried 
to  reason  out  the  case.  Had  it  really  been  a  put-up 
job?  Was  Travis  himself  faking,  and  was  the  rob- 
bery a  "  plant  "  by  which  he  might  forestall  ex- 
posure of  what  had  become  public  property  in  the 
hands  of  another,  no  longer  disposed  to  conceal  it? 
Or  was  it  after  all  the  last  desperate  blow  of  the 
Boss'? 

The  whole  thing  began  to  assume  a  suspicious 
look  in  my  mind.  Although  Kennedy  seemed  to 
have  made  little  real  progress,  I  felt  that,  far  from 
aiding  Travis,  it  made  things  darker.  There  was 
nothing  but  his  unsupported  word  that  he  had  not 
visited  the  Boss  subsequent  to  the  nominating  con- 
vention. He  admitted  having  done  so  before  the 
Reform  League  came  into  existence.  Besides  it 
seemed  tacitly  understood  that  both  the  Boss  and 
Cadwalader  Brown  acquiesced  in  the  sworn  state- 
ment of  the  man  who  said  he  had  made  the  pictures. 
Added  to  that  the  mere  existence  of  the  actual 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         379 

pictures  themselves  was  a  graphic  clincher  to  the 
story.  Personally,  if  I  had  been  in  Kennedy's  place 
I  think  I  should  have  taken  advantage  of  the  proviso 
in  the  compact  with  Travis  to  back  out  gracefully. 
Kennedy,  however,  now  started  on  the  case,  hung 
to  it  tenaciously. 

Miss  Ashton  was  waiting  for  us  at  the  press 
bureau.  Her  desk  was  at  the  middle  of  one  end  of 
the  room  in  which,  if  she  could  keep  an  eye  on  her 
office  force,  the  office  force  also  could  keep  an  eye 
on  her. 

Kennedy  had  apparently  taken  in  the  arrange- 
ment during  our  morning  visit,  for  he  set  to  work 
immediately.  The  side  of  the  room  toward  the 
office  of  Travis  and  Bennett  presented  an  expanse 
of  blank  wall.  With  a  mallet  he  quickly  knocked 
a  hole  in  the  rough  plaster,  just  above  the  baseboard 
about  the  room.  The  hole  did  not  penetrate  quite 
through  to  the  other  side.  In  it  he  placed  a  round 
disc  of  vulcanised  rubber,  with  insulated  wires  lead- 
ing down  back  of  the  baseboard,  then  out  under- 
neath it,  and  under  the  carpet.  Some  plaster  quickly 
closed  up  the  cavity  in  the  wall,  and  he  left  it  to 
dry. 

Next  he  led  the  wires  under  the  carpet  to  Miss 
Ashton's  desk.  There  they  ended,  under  the  carpet 
and  a  rug,  eighteen  or  twenty  huge  coils  several 
feet  in  diameter  disposed  in  such  a  way  as  to  attract 
no  attention  by  a  curious  foot  on  the  carpet  which 
covered  them. 

"  That  is  all,  Miss  Ashton,"  he  said  as  we  watched 
for  his  next  move.  "  I  shall  want  to  see  you  early 


380  THE  POISONED  PEN 

to-morrow,  and, — might  I  ask  you  to  be  sure  to 
wear  that  hat  which  you  have  on?  " 

It  was  a  very  becoming  hat,  but  Kennedy's  tone 
clearly  indicated  that  it  was  not  his  taste  in  inverted 
basket  millinery  that  prompted  the  request.  She 
promised,  smiling,  for  even  a  suffragette  may  like 
pretty  hats. 

Craig  had  still  to  see  Travis  and  report  on  his 
work.  The  candidate  was  waiting  anxiously  at  his 
hotel  after  a  big  political  mass  meeting  on  the  East 
Side,  at  which  capitalism  and  the  bosses  had  been 
hissed  to  the  echo,  if  that  is  possible. 

"  What  success  ?  "  inquired  Travis  eagerly. 

*'  I'm  afraid,"  replied  Kennedy,  and  the  candi- 
date's face  fell  at  the  tone,  "  I'm  afraid  you  will 
have  to  meet  them,  for  the  present.  The  time  limit 
will  expire  to-morrow,  and  I  understand  Hanford 
is  coming  up  for  a  final  answer.  We  must  have 
copies  of  those  photographs,  even  if  we  have  to  pay 
for  them.  There  seems  to  be  no  other  way." 

Travis  sank  back  in  his  chair  and  regarded  Ken- 
nedy hopelessly.  He  was  actually  pale.  "  You — 
you  don't  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  other  way, 
that  I'll  have  to  admit  even  before  Bennett — and 
others  that  I'm  in  bad?" 

"  I  wouldn't  put  it  that  way,"  said  Kennedy  merci- 
lessly, I  thought. 

"  It  is  that  way,"  Travis  asserted  almost  fiercely. 
'  Why,  we  could  have  done  that  anyhow.  No,  no, 
— I  don't  mean  that.  Pardon  me.  I'm  upset  by 
this.  Go  ahead,"  he  sighed. 

"  You  will  direct  Bennett  to  make  the  best  terms 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         381 

he  can  with  Hanford  when  he  comes  up  to-morrow. 
Have  him  arrange  the  details  of  payment  and  then 
rush  the  best  copies  of  the  photographs  to  me." 

Travis  seemed  crushed. 

We  met  Miss  Ashton  the  following  morning  en- 
tering her  office.  Kennedy  handed  her  a  package, 
and  in  a  few  words,  which  I  did  not  hear,  explained 
what  he  wanted,  promising  to  call  again  later. 

When  we  called,  the  girls  and  other  clerks  had 
arrived,  and  the  office  was  a  hive  of  industry  in 
the  rush  of  winding  up  the  campaign.  Typewriters 
were  clicking,  clippings  were  being  snipped  out  of 
a  huge  stack  of  newspapers  and  pasted  into  large 
scrap-books,  circulars  were  being  folded  and  made 
ready  to  mail  for  the  final  appeal.  The  room  was 
indeed  crowded,  and  I  felt  that  there  was  no  doubt, 
as  Kennedy  had  said,  that  nothing  much  could  go 
on  there  unobserved  by  any  one  to  whose  interest 
it  was  to  see  it. 

Miss  Ashton  was  sitting  at  her  desk  with  her  hat 
on  directing  the  work.  "  It  works,"  she  remarked 
enigmatically  to  Kennedy. 

"  Good,"  he  replied.  "  I  merely  dropped  in  to 
be  sure.  Now  if  anything  of  interest  happens,  Miss 
Ashton,  I  wish  you  would  let  me  know  immediately. 
I  must  not  be  seen  up  here,  but  I  shall  be  waiting 
downstairs  in  the  corridor  of  the  building.  My 
next  move  depends  entirely  on  what  you  have  to 
report." 

Downstairs  Craig  waited  with  growing  impa- 
tience. We  stood  in  an  angle  in  which  we  could 
see  without  being  readily  seen,  and  our  impatience 


382  THE  POISONED  PEN 

was  not  diminished  by  seeing  Hanford  enter  the 
elevator. 

I  think  that  Miss  Ashton  would  have  made  an 
excellent  woman  detective,  that  is,  on  a  case  in  which 
her  personal  feelings  were  not  involved  as  they  were 
here.  She  was  pale  and  agitated  as  she  appeared 
in  the  corridor,  and  Kennedy  hurried  toward  her. 

"  I  can't  believe  it.  I  won't  believe  it,"  she  man- 
aged to  say. 

"Tell  me,  what  happened?"  urged  Kennedy 
soothingly. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Kennedy,  why  did  you  ask  me  to  do 
this?"  she  reproached.  "I  would  almost  rather 
not  have  known  it  at  all." 

"  Believe  me,  Miss  Ashton,"  said  Kennedy,  "  you 
ought  to  know.  It  is  on  you  that  I  depend  most. 
,We  saw  Hanford  go  up.  What  occurred?  " 

She  was  still  pale,  and  replied  nervously,  "  Mr. 
Bennett  came  in  about  quarter  to  ten.  He  stopped 
to  talk  to  me  and  looked  about  the  room  curiously. 
Do  you  know,  I  felt  very  uncomfortable  for  a  time. 
Then  he  locked  the  door  leading  from  the  press 
bureau  to  his  office,  and  left  word  that  he  was  not 
to  be  disturbed.  A  few  minutes  later  a  man  called." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  prompted  Kennedy.  "  Hanford,  no 
doubt." 

She  was  racing  on  breathlessly,  scarcely  giving  one 
a  chance  to  inquire  how  she  had  learned  so  much. 

'  Why,"  she  cried  with  a  sort  of  defiant  ring  in 
her  tone,  "  Mr.  Travis  is  going  to  buy  those  pictures 
after  all.  And  the  worst  of  it  is  that  I  met  him 
in  the  hall  coming  in  as  I  was  coming  down  here, 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         383 

and  he  tried  to  act  toward  me  in  the  same  old  way — 
and  that  after  all  I  know  now  about  him.  They 
have  fixed  it  all  up,  Mr.  Bennett  acting  for  Mr. 
Travis,  and  this  Mr.  Hanford.  They  are  even  go- 
ing to  ask  me  to  carry  the  money  in  a  sealed  en- 
velope to  the  studio  of  this  fellow  Hanford,  to  be 
given  to  a  third  person  who  will  be  there  at  two 
o'clock  this  afternoon." 

"  You,  Miss  Ashton?  "  inquired  Kennedy,  a  light 
breaking  on  his  face  as  if  at  last  he  saw  something. 

"  Yes,  I,"  she  repeated.  "  Hanford  insisted  that 
it  was  part  of  the  compact.  They — they  haven't 
asked  me  openly  yet  to  be  the  means  of  carrying  out 
their  dirty  deals,  but  when  they  do,  I — I  won't " 

"  Miss  Ashton,"  remonstrated  Kennedy,  "  I  beg 
you  to  be  calm.  I  had  no  idea  you  would  take 
it  like  this,  no  idea.  Please,  please.  Walter,  you 
will  excuse  us  if  we  take  a  turn  down  the  corridor 
and  out  in  the  air.  This  is  most  extraordinary." 

For  five  or  ten  minutes  Kennedy  and  Miss  Ashton 
appeared  to  be  discussing  the  new  turn  of  events 
earnestly,  while  I  waited  impatiently.  As  they  ap- 
proached again  she  seemed  calmer,  but  I  heard  her 
say,  "  I  hope  you're  right.  I'm  all  broken  up  by 
it.  I'm  ready  to  resign.  My  faith  in  human  na- 
ture is  shaken.  No,  I  won't  expose  Wesley  Travis 
for  his  sake.  It  cuts  me  to  have  to  admit  it,  but 
Cadwalader  used  always  to  say  that  every  man  has 
his  price.  I  am  afraid  this  will  do  great  harm  to 
the  cause  of  reform  and  through  it  to  the  woman 
suffrage  cause  which  cast  its  lot  with  this  party.  I — • 
I  can  hardly  believe " 


3 84  THE  POISONED  PEN 

Kennedy  was  still  looking  earnestly  at  her. 
"  Miss  Ashton,"  he  implored,  "  believe  nothing. 
Remember  one  of  the  first  rules  of  politics  is  loy- 
alty. Wait  until " 

"Wait?"  she  echoed.  "How  can  I?  I  hate 
Wesley  Travis  for  giving  in — more  than  I  hate  Cad- 
walader  Brown  for  his  cynical  disregard  of  honesty 
in  others." 

She  bit  her  lip  at  thus  betraying  her  feelings,  but 
what  she  had  heard  had  evidently  affected  her 
deeply.  It  was  as  though  the  feet  of  her  idol  had 
turned  to  clay.  Nevertheless  it  was  evident  that 
she  was  coming  to  look  on  it  more  as  she  would 
if  she  were  an  outsider. 

"  Just  think  it  over,"  urged  Kennedy.  "  They 
won't  ask  you  right  away.  Don't  do  anything  rash. 
Suspend  judgment.  You  won't  regret  it/' 

Craig's  next  problem  seemed  to  be  to  transfer 
the  scene  of  his  operations  to  Hanford's  studio. 
He  was  apparently  doing  some  rapid  thinking  as 
we  walked  uptown  after  leaving  Miss  Ashton,  and 
I  did  not  venture  to  question  him  on  what  had 
occurred  when  it  was  so  evident  that  everything 
depended  on  being  prepared  for  what  was  still  to 
occur. 

Hanford  was  out.  That  seemed  to  please  Ken- 
nedy, for  with  a  brightening  face,  which  told  more 
surely  than  words  that  he  saw  his  way  more  and 
more  clearly,  he  asked  me  to  visit  the  agent  and 
hire  the  vacant  office  next  to  the  studio  while  he 
went  uptown  to  complete  his  arrangements  for  the 
final  step. 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         385 

I  had  completed  my  part  and  was  waiting  in  the 
empty  room  when  he  returned.  He  lost  no  time  in 
getting  to  work,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  I  watched 
him  curiously  in  silence  that  he  was  repeating  what 
he  had  already  done  at  the  Travis  headquarters. 
He  was  boring  into  the  wall,  only  this  time  he  did 
it  much  more  carefully,  and  it  was  evident  that  if 
he  intended  putting  anything  into  this  cavity  it  must 
be  pretty  large.  The  hole  was  square,  and  as  I 
bent  over  I  could  see  that  he  had  cut  through  the 
plaster  and  laths  all  the  way  to  the  wallpaper  on 
the  other  side,  though  he  was  careful  to  leave  that 
intact.  Then  he  set  up  a  square  black  box  in  the 
cavity,  carefully  poising  it  and  making  measure- 
ments that  told  of  the  exact  location  of  its  centre 
with  reference  to  the  partitions  and  walls. 

A  skeleton  key  took  us  into  Hanford's  well- 
lighted  but  now  empty  studio.  For  Miss  Ashton's 
sake  I  wished  that  the  photographs  had  been  there. 
I  am  sure  Kennedy  would  have  found  slight  com- 
punction in  a  larceny  of  them,  if  they  had  been.  It 
was  something  entirely  different  that  he  had  in 
mind  now,  however,  and  he  was  working  quickly  for 
fear  of  discovery.  By  his  measurements  I  guessed 
that  he  was  calculating  as  nearly  as  possible  the 
centre  of  the  box  which  he  had  placed  in  the  hole  in 
the  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the  dark  wallpaper. 
When  he  had  quite  satisfied  himself  he  took  a  fine 
pencil  from  his  pocket  and  made  a  light  cross  on 
the  paper  to  indicate  it.  The  dot  fell  to  the  left 
of  a  large  calendar  hanging  on  the  wall. 

Kennedy's  appeal  to  Margaret  Ashton  had  evi- 


386  THE  POISONED  PEN 

dently  had  its  effect,  for  when  we  saw  her  a  few 
moments  after  these  mysterious  preparations  she 
had  overcome  her  emotion. 

"  They  have  asked  me  to  carry  a  note  to  Mr. 
Hanford's  studio,"  she  said  quietly,  "  and  without 
letting  them  know  that  I  know  anything  about  it  I 
have  agreed  to  do  so." 

"  Miss  Ashton,"  said  Kennedy,  greatly  relieved, 
"  you're  a  trump." 

"  No,"  she  replied,  smiling  faintly,  "  I'm  just 
feminine  enough  to  be  curisus." 

Craig  shook  his  head,  but  did  not  dispute  the 
point.  "  After  you  have  handed  the  envelope  to  the 
person,  whoever  it  may  be,  in  Hanford's  studio,  wait 
until  he  does  something — er, — suspicious.  Mean- 
while look  at  the  wall  on  the  side  toward  the  next 
vacant  office.  To  the  left  of  the  big  calendar  you 
will  see  a  light  pencil  mark,  a  cross.  Somehow  you 
must  contrive  to  get  near  it,  but  don't  stand  in  front 
of  it.  Then  if  anything  happens  stick  this  little 
number  10  needle  in  the  wall  right  at  the  intersec- 
tion of  the  cross.  Withdraw  it  quickly,  count  fif- 
teen, then  put  this  little  sticker  over  the  cross,  and 
get  out  as  best  you  can,  though  we  shan't  be  far 
away  if  you  should  need  us.  That's  all." 

We  did  not  accompany  her  to  the  studio  for  fear 
of  being  observed,  but  waited  impatiently  in  the 
next  office.  We  could  hear  nothing  of  what  was 
said,  but  when  a  door  shut  and  it  was  evident  that 
she  had  gone,  Kennedy  quickly  removed  something 
from  the  box  in  the  wall  covered  with  a  black  cloth. 

As  soon  as  it  was  safe  Kennedy  had  sent  me  post- 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         387 

ing  after  her  to  secure  copies  of  the  incriminating 
photographs  which  were  to  be  carried  by  her  from 
the  studio,  while  he  remained  to  see  who  came  out. 
I  thought  a  change  had  come  over  her  as  she  handed 
me  the  package  with  the  request  that  I  carry  it  to 
Mr.  Bennett  and  get  them  from  him. 

The  first  inkling  I  had  that  Kennedy  had  at  last 
been  able  to  trace  back  something  in  the  mysterious 
doings  of  the  past  two  days  came  the  following  even- 
ing, when  Craig  remarked  casually  that  he  would 
like  to  have  me  call  on  Billy  McLoughlin  if  I  had 
no  engagement.  I  replied  that  I  had  none — and 
managed  to  squirm  out  of  the  one  I  really  had. 

The  Boss's  office  was  full  of  politicians,  for  it  was 
the  eve  of  "  dough  day,"  when  the  purse  strings 
were  loosed  and  a  flood  of  potent  argument  poured 
forth  to  turn  the  tide  of  election.  Hanford  was 
there  with  the  other  ward  heelers. 

"  Mr.  McLoughlin,"  began  Kennedy  quietly, 
when  we  were  seated  alone  with  Hanford  in  the 
little  sanctum  of  the  Boss,  "  you  will  pardon  me  if 
I  seem  a  little  slow  in  coming  to  the  business  that 
has  brought  me  here  to-night.  First  of  all,  I  may 
say,  and  you,  Hanford,  being  a  photographer  will 
appreciate  it,  that  ever  since  the  days  of  Daguerre 
photography  has  been  regarded  as  the  one  infallible 
means  of  portraying  faithfully  any  object,  scene,  or 
action.  Indeed  a  photograph  is  admitted  in  court 
as  irrefutable  evidence.  For  when  everything  else 
fails,  a  picture  made  through  the  photographic  lens 
almost  invariably  turns  the  tide.  However,  such 
a  picture  upon  which  the  fate  of  an  important  case 


388  THE  POISONED  PEN 

may  rest  should  be  subjected  to  critical  examination 
for  it  is  an  established  fact  that  a  photograph  may 
be  made  as  untruthful  as  it  may  be  reliable.  Com- 
bination photographs  change  entirely  the  character 
of  the  initial  negative  and  have  been  made  for  the 
past  fifty  years.  The  earliest,  simplest,  and  most 
harmless  photographic  deception  is  the  printing  of 
clouds  into  a  bare  sky.  But  the  retoucher  with  his 
pencil  and  etching  tool  to-day  is  very  skilful.  A 
workman  of  ordinary  skill  can  introduce  a  person 
taken  in  a  studio  into  an  open-air  scene  well  blended 
and  in  complete  harmony  without  a  visible  trace 
of  falsity. 

"  I  need  say  nothing  of  how  one  head  can  be 
put  on  another  body  in  a  picture,  nor  need  I  say 
what  a  double  exposure  will  do.  There  is  almost 
no  limit  to  the  changes  that  may  be  wrought  in  form 
and  feature.  It  is  possible  to  represent  a  person 
crossing  Broadway  or  walking  on  Riverside  Drive, 
places  he  may  never  have  visited.  Thus  a  person 
charged  with  an  offence  may  be  able  to  prove  an 
alibi  by  the  aid  of  a  skilfully  prepared  combination 
photograph. 

'  Where,  then,  can  photography  be  considered  as 
irrefutable  evidence?  The  realism  may  convince 
all,  will  convince  all,  except  the  expert  and  the  ini- 
tiated after  careful  study.  A  shrewd  judge  will 
insist  that  in  every  case  the  negative  be  submitted 
and  examined  for  possible  alterations  by  a  clever 
manipulator." 

Kennedy  bent  his  gaze  on  McLoughlin.  "  Now, 
I  do  not  accuse  you,  sir,  of  anything.  But  a  photo- 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER        389 

graph  has  come  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Travis 
in  which  he  is  represented  as  standing  on  the  steps 
of  your  house  with  yourself  and  Mr.  Cadwalader 
Brown.  He  and  Mr.  Brown  are  in  poses  that  show 
the  utmost  friendliness.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  that  was  originally  a  photograph  of  yourself, 
Mr.  Brown,  and  your  own  candidate.  It  is  a  pretty 
raw  deal,  a  fake  in  which  Travis  has  been  substi- 
tuted by  very  excellent  photographic  forgery." 

McLoughlin  motioned  to  Hanford  to  reply. 
"A  fake?"  repeated  the  latter  contemptuously. 
"  How  about  the  affidavits?  There's  no  negative. 
You've  got  to  prove  that  the  original  print  stolen 
from  Travis,  we'll  say,  is  a  fake.  You  can't  do  it." 

"September  igth  was  the  date  alleged,  I  be- 
lieve? "  asked  Kennedy  quietly,  laying  down  the 
bundle  of  metric  photographs  and  the  alleged  pho- 
tographs of  Travis.  He  was  pointing  to  a  shadow 
of  a  gable  on  the  house  as  it  showed  in  the  metric 
photographs  and  the  others. 

"You  see  that  shadow  of  the  gable?  Perhaps 
you  never  heard  of  it,  Hanford,  but  it  is  possible 
to  tell  the  exact  time  at  which  a  photograph  was 
taken  from  a  study  of  the  shadows.  It  is  possible 
in  principle  and  practice  and  can  be  trusted.  Al- 
most any  scientist  may  be  called  on  to  bear  testimony 
in  court  nowadays,  but  you  would  say  the  astronomer 
is  one  of  the  least  likely.  Well,  the  shadow  in  this 
picture  will  prove  an  alibi  for  some  one. 

"  Notice.  It  is  seen  very  prominently  to  the 
right,  and  its  exact  location  on  the  house  is  un  easy 
matter.  You  could  almost  use  the  metric  photo- 


390  THE  POISONED  PEN 

graph  for  that.  The  identification  of  the  gable  cast- 
ing the  shadow  is  easy.  To  be  exact  it  is  19.62 
feet  high.  The  shadow  is  14.23  feet  down,  13.10 
feet  east,  and  3.43  feet  north.  -You  see  I  am  ex- 
act. I  have  to  be.  In  one  minute  it  moved  0.080 
feet  upward,  0.053  feet  to  the  right,  and  0.096  feet 
in  its  apparent  path.  It  passes  the  width  of  a 
weatherboard,  0.37  foot,  in  four  minutes  and  thirty- 
seven  seconds." 

Kennedy  was  talking  rapidly  of  data  which  he 
had  derived  from  his  metric  photograph,  from 
plumb  line,  level,  compass,  and  tape,  astronomical 
triangle,  vertices,  zenith,  pole  and  sun,  declination, 
azimuth,  solar  time,  parallactic  angles,  refraction, 
and  a  dozen  bewildering  terms. 

"  In  spherical  trigonometry,"  he  concluded,  "  to 
solve  the  problem  three  elements  must  be  known. 
I  knew  four.  Therefore  I  could  take  each  of  the 
known,  treat  it  as  unknown,  and  have  four  ways  to 
check  my  result.  I  find  that  the  time  might  have 
been  either  three  o'clock,  twenty-one  minutes  and 
twelve  seconds,  in  the  afternoon,  or  3:21:31,  or 
3 :2 1 :29,  or  3  :2 1 133.  The  average  is  3  :2 1 :26,  and 
there  can  therefore  be  no  appreciable  error  except 
for  a  few  seconds.  For  that  date  must  have  been 
one  of  two  days,  either  May  22  or  July  22.  Be- 
tween these  two  dates  we  must  decide  on  evidence 
other  than  the  shadow.  It  must  have  been  in  May, 
as  the  immature  condition  of  the  foliage  shows. 
But  even  if  it  had  been  in  July,  that  is  far  from 
being  September.  The  matter  of  the  year  I  have 
also  settled.  Weather  conditions,  I  find,  were 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER        391 

favourable  on  all  these  dates  except  that  in  Septem- 
ber. I  can  really  answer,  with  an  assurance  and 
accuracy  superior  to  that  of  the  photographer  him- 
self— even  if  he  were  honest — as  to  the  real  date. 
The  real  picture,  aside  from  being  doctored,  was 
actually  taken  last  May.  Science  is  not  fallible,  but 
exact  in  this  matter." 

Kennedy  had  scored  a  palpable  hit.  McLoughlin 
and  Hanford  were  speechless.  Still  Craig  hurried 
on. 

"  But,  you  may  ask,  how  about  the  automobile 
picture?  That  also  is  an  unblushing  fake.  Of 
course  I  must  prove  that.  In  the  first  place,  you 
know  that  the  general  public  has  come  to  recognise 
the  distortion  of  a  photograph  as  denoting  speed. 
A  picture  of  a  car  in  a  race  that  doesn't  lean  is 
rejected — people  demand  to  see  speed,  speed,  more 
speed  even  in  pictures.  Distortion  does  indeed 
show  speed,  but  that,  too,  can  be  faked. 

"  Hanford  knows  that  the  image  is  projected  up- 
side down  by  the  lens  on  the  plate,  and  that  the 
bottom  of  the  picture  is  taken  before  the  top.  The 
camera  mechanism  admits  light,  which  makes  the 
picture,  in  the  manner  of  a  roller  blind  curtain. 
The  slit  travels  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  and  the 
image  on  the  plate  being  projected  upside  down, 
the  bottom  of  the  object  appears  on  the  top  of  the 
plate.  For  instance,  the  wheels  are  taken  before 
the  head  of  the  driver.  If  the  car  is  moving  quickly 
the  image  moves  on  the  plate  and  each  successive 
part  is  taken  a  little  in  advance  of  the  last.  The 
whole  leans  forward.  By  widening  the  slit  and 


392  THE  POISONED  PEN 

slowing  the  speed  of  the  shutter,   there  is  more 
distortion. 

"  Now,  this  is  what  happened.  A  picture  was 
taken  of  Cadwalader  Brown's  automobile,  probably 
at  rest,  with  Brown  in  it.  The  matter  of  faking 
Travis  or  any  one  else  by  his  side  is  simple.  If 
with  an  enlarging  lantern  the  image  of  this  faked 
picture  is  thrown  on  the  paper  like  a  lantern  slide, 
and  if  the  right  hand  side  is  a  little  further  away 
than  the  left,  the  top  further  away  than  the  bottom, 
you  can  print  a  fraudulent  high  speed  ahead  picture. 
True,  everything  else  in  the  picture,  even  if  motion- 
less, is  distorted,  and  the  difference  between  this 
faking  and  the  distortion  of  the  shutter  can  be  seen 
by  an  expert.  But  it  will  pass.  In  this  case,  how- 
ever, the  faker  was  so  sure  of  that  that  he  was  care- 
less. Instead  of  getting  the  plate  further  from  the 
paper  on  the  right  he  did  so  on  the  left.  It  was 
further  away  on  the  bottom  than  on  the  top.  He 
got  distortion  all  right,  enough  still  to  satisfy  the 
uninitiated.  But  it  was  distortion  in  the  wrong 
way!  The  top  of  the  wheel,  which  goes  fastest  and 
ought  to  be  most  indistinct,  is,  in  the  fake,  as  sharp 
as  any  other  part.  It  is  a  small  mistake,  but  fatal. 
That  picture  is  really  at  high  speed — backwards! 
It  is  too  raw,  too  raw." 

'  You  don't  think  people  are  going  to  swallow 
all  that  stuff,  do  you?"  asked  Hanford  coolly,  in 
spite  of  the  exposures. 

Kennedy  paid  no  attention.  He  was  looking  at 
McLoughlin.  The  Boss  was  regarding  him  surlily. 
"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "what  of  all  this?  I 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER        393 

had  nothing  to  do  with  it.     Why  do  you  come  to 
me?     Take  it  to  the  proper  parties." 

"  Shall  I?  "  asked  Kennedy  quietly. 

He  had  uncovered  another  picture  carefully.  We 
could  not  see  it,  but  as  he  looked  at  it  McLoughlin 
fairly  staggered. 

'  Wh — where  did  you  get  that?  "  he  gasped. 

"  I  got  it  where  I  got  it,  and  it  is  no  fake,"  re- 
plied Kennedy  enigmatically.  Then  he  appeared 
to  think  better  of  it.  "  This,"  he  explained,  "  is 
what  is  known  as  a  pinhole  photograph.  Three 
hundred  years  ago  della  Porta  knew  the  camera 
obscura,  and  but  for  the  lack  of  a  sensitive  plate 
would  have  made  photographs.  A  box,  thoroughly 
light-tight,  slotted  inside  to  receive  plates,  covered 
with  black,  and  glued  tight,  a  needle  hole  made 
by  a  number  10  needle  in  a  thin  sheet  of  paper — 
and  you  have  the  apparatus  for  lensless  photogra- 
phy. It  has  a  correctness  such  as  no  image-form- 
ing means  by  lenses  can  have.  It  is  literally  recti- 
graphic,  rectilinear,  it  needs  no  focussing,  and  it 
takes  a  wide  angle  with  equal  effect.  Even  pinhole 
snapshots  are  possible  where  the  light  is  abundant, 
with  a  ten  to  fifteen  second  exposure. 

"  That  picture,  McLoughlin,  was  taken  yesterday 
at  Hanford's.  After  Miss  Ashton  left  I  saw  who 
came  out,  but  this  picture  shows  what  happened  be- 
fore. At  a  critical  moment  Miss  Ashton  stuck  a 
needle  in  the  wall  of  the  studio,  counted  fifteen, 
closed  the  needle-hole,  and  there  is  the  record. 
Walter,  Hanford, — leave  us  alone  an  instant." 

When  Kennedy  passed  out  of  the  Boss's  office 


394  THE  POISONED  PEN 

there  was  a  look  of  quiet  satisfaction  on  his  face 
which  I  could  not  fathom.  Not  a  word  could  I 
extract  from  him  either  that  night  or  on  the  follow- 
ing day,  which  was  the  last  before  the  election. 

I  must  say  that  I  was  keenly  disappointed  by  the 
lack  of  developments,  however.  The  whole  thing 
seemed  to  me  to  be  a  mess.  Everybody  was  in- 
volved. What  had  Miss  Ashton  overheard  and 
what  had  Kennedy  said  to  McLoughlin?  Above 
all,  what  was  his  game?  Was  he  playing  to  spare 
the  girl's  feelings  by  allowing  the  election  to  go  on 
without  a  scandal  for  Travis? 

At  last  election  night  arrived.  We  were  all  at 
the  Travis  headquarters,  KeVinedy,  Travis,  Bennett, 
and  myself.  Miss  Ashton  was  not  present,  but  the 
first  returns  had  scarcely  begun  to  trickle  in  when 
Craig  whispered  to  me  to  go  out  and  find  her, 
either  at  her  home  or  club.  I  found  her  at  home. 
She  had  apparently  lost  interest  in  the  election,  and 
it  was  with  difficulty  that  I  persuaded  her  to  accom- 
pany me. 

The  excitement  of  any  other  night  in  the  year 
paled  to  insignificance  before  this.  Distracted 
crowds  everywhere  were  cheering  and  blowing 
horns.  Now  a  series  of  wild  shouts  broke  forth 
from  the  dense  mass  of  people  before  a  newspaper 
bulletin  board.  Now  came  sullen  groans,  hisses, 
and  catcalls,  or  all  together  with  cheers  as  the  re- 
turns swung  in  another  direction.  Not  even  base- 
ball could  call  out  such  a  crowd  as  this.  Lights 
blazed  everywhere.  Automobiles  honked  and 
ground  their  gears.  The  lobster  palaces  were 


395 

thronged.  Police  were  everywhere.  People  with 
horns  and  bells  and  all  manner  of  noise-making 
devices  pushed  up  one  side  of  the  thoroughfares  and 
down  the  other.  Hungrily,  ravenously  they  were 
feeding  on  the  meagre  bulletins  of  news. 

Yet  back  of  all  the  noise  and  human  energy  I 
could  only  think  of  the  silent,  systematic  gathering 
and  editing  of  the  news.  High  up  in  the  League 
headquarters,  when  we  returned,  a  corps  of  clerks 
was  tabulating  returns,  comparing  official  and  semi- 
official reports.  As  first  the  state  swung  one  way, 
then  another,  our  hopes  rose  and  fell.  Miss  Ash- 
ton  seemed  cold  and  ill  at  ease,  while  Travis  looked 
more  worried  and  paid  less  attention  to  the  returns 
than  would  have  seemed  natural.  She  avoided  him 
and  he  seemed  to  hesitate  to  seek  her  out. 

Would  the  up-state  returns,  I  had  wondered  at 
first,  be  large  enough  to  overcome  the  hostile  city 
vote?  I  was  amazed  now  to  see  how  strongly  the 
city  was  turning  to  Travis. 

"  McLoughlin  has  kept  his  word,"  ejaculated 
Kennedy  as  district  after  district  showed  that  the 
Boss's  pluralities  were  being  seriously  cut  into. 

"His  word?  What  do  you  mean?"  we  asked 
almost  together. 

"  I  mean  that  he  has  kept  his  word  given  to  me 
at  a  conference  which  Mr.  Jameson  saw  but  did  not 
hear.  I  told  him  I  would  publish  the  whole  thing, 
not  caring  whom  or  where  or  when  it  hit  if  he  did 
not  let  up  on  Travis.  I  advised  him  to  read  his  Re- 
vised Statutes  again  about  money  in  elections,  and 
I  ended  up  with  the  threat,  *  There  will  be  no  dough 


396  THE  POISONED  PEN 

day,  McLoughlin,  or  this  will  be  prosecuted  to  the 
limit.'  There  was  no  dough  day.  You  see  the 
effect  in  the  returns." 

"But  how  did  you  do  it?"  I  asked,  not  com- 
prehending. "  The  faked  photographs  did  not 
move  him,  that  I  could  see." 

The  words,  "  faked  photographs,"  caused  Miss 
Ashton  to  glance  up  quickly.  I  saw  that  Kennedy 
had  not  told  her  or  any  one  yet,  until  the  Boss 
had  made  good.  He  had  simply  arranged  one  of 
his  little  dramas. 

"  Shall  I  tell,  Miss  Ashton?  "  he  asked,  adding, 
"  Before  I  complete  my  part  of  the  compact  and 
blot  out  the  whole  affair?" 

"  I  have  no  right  to  say  no,"  she  answered  tremu- 
lously, but  with  a  look  of  happiness  that  I  had  not 
seen  since  our  first  introduction. 

Kennedy  laid  down  a  print  on  a  table.  It  was  the 
pinhole  photograph,  a  little  blurry,  but  quite  con- 
vincing. On  a  desk  in  the  picture  was  a  pile  of 
bills.  McLoughlin  was  shoving  them  away  from 
him  toward  Bennett.  A  man  who  was  facing  for- 
ward in  the  picture  was  talking  earnestly  to  some 
one  who  did  not  appear.  I  felt  intuitively,  even 
before  Kennedy  said  so,  that  the  person  was  Miss 
Ashton  herself  as  she  stuck  the  needle  into  the  wall. 
The  man  was  Cadwalader  Brown. 

"  Travis,"  demanded  Kennedy,  "  bring  the  ac- 
count books  of  your  campaign.  I  want  the  miscel- 
laneous account  particularly." 

The  books  were  brought,  and  he  continued,  turn- 
ing the  leaves,  **  It  seemed  to  me  to  show  a  shortage 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER        397 

of  nearly  twenty  thousand  dollars  the  other  day. 
Why,  it  has  been  made  up.  How  was  that, 
Bennett?" 

Bennett  was  speechless.  "  I  will  tell  you,"  Craig 
proceeded  inexorably.  "  Bennett,  you  embezzled 
that  money  for  your  business.  Rather  than  be 
found  out,  you  went  to  Billy  McLoughlin  and  offered 
to  sell  out  the  Reform  campaign  for  money  to  re- 
place it.  With  the  aid  of  the  crook,  Hanford, 
McLoughlin's  tool,  you  worked  out  the  scheme  to 
extort  money  from  Travis  by  forged  photographs. 
You  knew  enough  about  Travis's  house  and  library 
to  frame  up  a  robbery  one  night  when  you  were 
staying  there  with  him.  It  was  inside  work,  I  found, 
at  a  glance.  Travis,  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell 
you  that  your  confidence  was  misplaced.  It  was 
Bennett  who  robbed  you— and  worse. 

"  But  Cadwalader  Brown,  always  close  to  his 
creature,  Billy  McLoughlin,  heard  of  it.  To  him 
it  presented  another  idea.  To  him  it  offered  a 
chance  to  overthrow  a  political  enemy  and  a  hated 
rival  for  Miss  Ashton's  hand.  Perhaps  into  the 
bargain  it  would  disgust  her  with  politics,  disillusion 
her,  and  shake  her  faith  in  what  he  believed  to  be 
some  of  her  '  radical '  notions.  All  could  be  gained 
at  one  blow.  They  say  that  a  check-book  knows 
no  politics,  but  Bennett  has  learned  some,  I  venture 
to  say,  and  to  save  his  reputation  he  will  pay  back 
what  he  has  tried  to  graft." 

Travis  could  scarcely  believe  it  yet.  "  How  did 
you  get  your  first  hint?  "  he  gasped. 

Kennedy  was  digging  into  the  wall  with  a  bill 


398  THE  POISONED  PEN 

file  at  the  place  where  he  had  buried  the  little  vul- 
canised disc.  I  had  already  guessed  that  it  was  a 
dictograph,  though  I  could  not  tell  how  it  was  used 
or  who  used  it.  There  it  was,  set  squarely  in  the 
plaster.  There  also  were  the  wires  running  under 
the  carpet.  As  he  lifted  the  rug  under  Miss  Ash- 
ton's  desk  there  also  lay  the  huge  circles  of  wire. 
That  was  all. 

At  this  moment  Miss  Ashton  stepped  forward. 
"  Last  Friday,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  wore  a 
belt  which  concealed  a  coil  of  wire  about  my  waist. 
From  it  a  wire  ran  under  my  coat,  connecting  with 
a  small  dry  battery  in  a  pocket.  Over  my  head  I 
had  an  arrangement  such  as  the  telephone  girls  wear 
with  a  receiver  at  one  ear  connected  with  the  bat- 
tery. No  one  saw  it,  for  I  wore  a  large  hat  which 
completely  hid  it.  If  any  one  had  known,  and  there 
were  plenty  of  eyes  watching,  the  whole  thing  would 
have  fallen  through.  I  could  walk  around;  no  one 
could  suspect  anything;  but  when  I  stood  or  sat  at 
my  desk  I  could  hear  everything  that  was  said  in 
Mr.  Bennett's  office." 

"  By  induction,"  explained  Kennedy.  "  The  im- 
pulses set  up  in  the  concealed  dictograph  set  up 
currents  in  these  coils  of  wire  concealed  under  the 
carpet.  They  were  wirelessly  duplicated  by  induc- 
tion in  the  coil  about  Miss  Ashton's  waist  and  so 
affected  the  receiver  under  her  very  becoming  hat. 
Tell  the  rest,  Miss  Ashton." 

"  I  heard  the  deal  arranged  with  this  Hanford," 
she  added,  almost  as  if  she  were  confessing  some- 
thing, "  but  not  understanding  it  as  Mr.  Kennedy 


THE  CAMPAIGN  GRAFTER         399 

did,  I  very  hastily  condemned  Mr.  Travis.  I  heard 
talk  of  putting  back  twenty  thousand  into  the  cam- 
paign accounts,  of  five  thousand  given  to  Hanford 
for  his  photographic  work,  and  of  the  way  Mr. 
Travis  was  to  be  defeated  whether  he  paid  or  not. 
I  heard  them  say  that  one  condition  was  that  I 
should  carry  the  purchase  money.  I  heard  much 
that  must  have  confirmed  Mr.  Kennedy's  suspicion 
in  one  way,  and  my  own  in  an  opposite  way,  which 
I  know  now  was  wrong.  And  then  Cadwalader 
Brown  in  the  studio  taunted  me  cynically  and — and 
it  cut  me,  for  he  seemed  right.  I  hope  that  Mr. 
Travis  will  forgive  me  for  thinking  that  Mr. 
Bennett's  treachery  was  his " 

A  terrific  cheer  broke  out  among  the  clerks  in 
the  outer  office.  A  boy  rushed  in  with  a  still  un- 
blotted  report.  Kennedy  seized  it  and  read: 
"  McLoughlin  concedes  the  city  by  a  small  majority 
to  Travis,  fifteen  election  districts  estimated.  This 
clinches  the  Reform  League  victory  in  the  state." 

I  turned  to  Travis.  He  was  paying  no  attention 
except  to  the  pretty  apology  of  Margaret  Ashton. 

Kennedy  drew  me  to  the  door.  "  We  might  as 
well  concede  Miss  Ashton  to  Travis,"  he  said,  add- 
ing gaily,  "  by  induction  of  an  arm  about  the  waist* 
Let's  go  out  and  watch  the  crowd." 


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